


My Love, My Psychopomp

by JUS_kiddin



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst, F/F, Mild Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 30
Words: 40,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25554412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JUS_kiddin/pseuds/JUS_kiddin
Summary: Miranda Priestly knows what kind of legacy she wants to leave behind when she discovers there are some battles she won’t win. While Andrea isn’t the psychopomp she would have asked for, she excels at being exactly what Miranda needs.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 111
Kudos: 253





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing. Enjoy.

Miranda Priestly’s rise to relevance was as easy as crossing a sea of hot coals in glass heels. You are who you want to be, someone had told her when she was a girl still naive enough to believe that she could become Miranda Priestly with Miriam Princhek’s soul intact. She saw what she wanted and in the first few years she underestimated the price of ambition. The long nights took their toll, yes. Still there was always a larger cost when she added up the minutes she spent at Runway compared to the attention she put on her personal life. 

Her lovers came and went. Her husbands did the same. Her daughters stayed and as a result they were becoming disillusioned with the Great Miranda Priestly. She played a large part in that even though she would just as quickly blame the girl’s father on planting treacherous seeds in their impressionable heads. They were what was left of Miriam Princhek, her two redhead girls and it scared her a little. So much that she wanted to yank them away from their father whom they were embracing for a summer vacation with him and and his wife. If she could sit them down and make them understand...the fantasy ended as soon as it began because they were her children and stubborn to the core. If there was anything to be found out about life they would have to figure out quite a bit on their own.

Melancholy would come after her thoughts trudged through the guilt. It was thick and to breath again she’d have to trek through it all with the perseverance of a Brazilian model in six inch heels walking in six inch snow.

From her rolled down window in her town car. Miranda was afflicted by something more troublesome, restlessness.

Her driver shifted in his seat making the leather squeal. He had a wife to go home to and children if she wasn’t mistaken. Undoubtedly, he couldn’t wait until she decided what to do with herself. Not even the thought of keeping this man from his family, to stare at her broken one, spurred any urgency to release him for the night. What was the rush? Peace and quiet was overrated. The idea of going back to lock herself in her office with work and a decanter was equally unappealing. Her indifference ran deep like an insistent disease on the hunt for healthy cells to infect.

She wouldn’t be defeated so easily and came up with a short list of pleasures and distractions specific to her. She went through the list and tossed them aside like last year's Jimmy Choos. There was one place...Miranda ordered her driver to drive to the airport.

The many places she could go if she were inclined. Yet, she wasn’t inclined. She wanted dinner and a drink and the second best steak in town could be bought in the airport restaurant Rios. Everyone had somewhere to be which left little time to pay attention to her. She released her driver for the night, she was perfectly capable of taking a cab back to the townhouse if that’s where she ended up. She hoped not.

In a place where everyone had a place to be she blended in perfectly. Her presence didn’t part the proverbial red sea. People didn’t shrivel away from her or try to keep up with her. When she reached Rios restaurant she didn’t have long to wait to be seated. She chose a cozy corner booth and a bourbon to ease her nerves as she scanned the people already at their tables. If they weren’t engaged in conversation already they had their heads down in their phone.

The service was always attentive. She ordered steak and potatoes. Her drink came first and she had two bourbon on the rocks before anyone approached her. He was a slender older man with gray hair and smiling eyes. His suit was wrinkled at the joints from long hours of sitting on a plane. He made a comment: “I’m great with faces. I’ve seen you from somewhere.” 

She was still waiting on her food. She had a drink in her hand, but she hadn’t imbibed enough to feel like entertaining someone just passing through. There was a hotel down the road for delays and canceled flights. The sheets were decent, the decor tolerable, and the service was adequate. 

He introduced himself as Henry and he proceeded to list off places where they would never have met. He could pass for a distraction. Her thoughts went back to the hotel and how long it would take from beginning to end and she surmised she’d still be able to have her evening drink, shower, and check a few emails before ten o’ clock tonight. He would do, she thought aware that his mouth was moving and she was missing everything coming out of it. She was on the verge of telling him in the politest way possible, to avoid scaring him off when a woman claimed the seat Miranda was going to give her would be suitor.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Benjamin was talking my head off about balance sheets, projected earnings, CEOs, and COOs. I told him ‘spend my million on what the stocks I told him to buy’. I swear he wants to give me the shitty picks to profit not just from a commission, but taking the opposite of my position. If I had a dollar for every second someone questioned my intelligence because I didn’t have a penis I’d have double my current net worth.”

She asked Henry for a menu and asked what he would suggest for an appetizer. His face turned red and he looked to Miranda. She only had eyes for the brunette sitting her jacket on the seat and if he couldn’t explain what he was there for, why should she?

“I think I’m in the mood for dessert,” she said to no one in particular. When she looked up she saw Henry and asked if he had any suggestions. 

“Did I look like I needed to be saved from something?” asked Miranda when Henry returned to his table alone to drink his alcohol, alone.

“Hell no,” the brunette said, also trailing the older traveler. “I wanted you for myself.”

“Pardon?” the older woman narrowed her eyes in reflex at having her personal space intruded upon.

The nameless brunette wore a smug smile that immediately bothered Miranda. “I thought I had the best view in the city from the bar, but I like this one better.”

Miranda’s head titled at the well dressed, young traveler wearing a heady scent of cockiness. She was different, raw, channeled, and had the restless woman’s attention. 

The brunette shook her head. “Don’t worry I’m not selling anything. I’m damaged goods. I wouldn’t do that to someone who was gracious enough to let me call her beautiful.”

“I’m not a dress on a mannequin in a retail store window.”

“I’m painfully aware of that.” The brunette chuckles. “I told you I’m not here to sell you anything. I’m just curious.”

Cliche, Miranda stopped herself from rolling her eyes. She sat her chin in her hand instead and grimaced. “What are you drinking?”

“I don’t drink.”

“You’re odd and all without liquid courage,” said Miranda. She raised her glass.

“I never mastered the art of conversation. One would think that for as long as I’ve existed I would know how to approach a beautiful woman.”

“You’re a child.”

This amuses the brunette and she laughs openly unknowingly upsetting the older woman, who doesn’t appreciate mockery. “Thank you for saying, but I haven’t been a child for an eternity.” 

Miranda’s lips pursed. “I’m not interested in entertaining this conversation anymore.”

“Three minutes. That’s longer than I’d thought I’d have with the illustrious Miranda Priestly. Don’t worry I wasn’t lying when I said I wasn’t trying to sell you anything. I wasn’t lying when I said I was damaged goods. Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to a thrice divorced icon who had to drop her kids off to her baby daddy for the summer.”

Miranda paid people to avoid situations like this. What she wouldn’t give for Emily to whisper a name and a backstory in her ear. Miranda studied the stranger earnestly. There were too many people in and around her industry to keep up with faces and names. Though she wasn’t sure that this woman so direct and disarming had anything to do with her world. When Miranda was sure she hadn’t seen the woman before tonight she began to worry. Less for herself and more for her daughters. First and foremost she was in danger. She followed her instincts and reached for her phone to call the police. The hand reaching for the lifeline was immediately covered.

“I like having you to myself Miranda. Let’s not invite any unwanted attention to the party,” she said, forcing her closer to the wall.

Miranda sighed, unsure of what she wanted to say. From the corner of her eye the lawyer collected his bag and his ticket. He headed towards the gates that would take him far away from her table and a chance of a semi pleasant arrangement that might have matured into a premature marriage proposal. She saw the beginning and end of life with Henry the lawyer. It made her sad and if she were the self deprecating type she’d call herself desperate and pathetic. She was holding on to her personal wants like a flag on a flagpole in a violent wind. 

“What do you want?” asked Miranda.

“I’ve gone and made you afraid of me.”

“I’ll scream,” Miranda warned already looking over the stranger’s shoulder. 

“That’s boring,” Andrea inched closer. She slipped Miranda’s phone from her grip. “You’re not boring.” 

Miranda glanced up when her food arrived. Andrea accepted the menu without taking her eyes off of Miranda. She told the waiter to give her a minute and the conversation stalled until he left to attend to another customer. 

“What do you want?” the woman asked again.

“To be close.”

“What does that mean?”

“A few minutes ago, it meant sitting at the bar while you sat here. Then it wasn’t enough to watch the lawyer charm you with empty compliments. At least when I call you beautiful I know I’d mean it and I wouldn’t ask for anything in return.”

“And yet you have my phone,” Miranda whispered.

“Your steak is getting cold,” said Andrea when she withdrew to give the woman room to enjoy her meal.

Miranda reached for her knife and fork, enjoying her meal was the farthest thought from her mind. The move didn’t elicit a perturbed reaction. She looked even more at ease with herself as if she didn’t believe that Miranda would stick the butter knife in her hand to rescue her phone.

“My girls could call at any time.”

“Yea. I guess it’s fortunate for me that you have a reputation of ignoring family calls for work.” Andrea was amused, but Miranda couldn’t detect any negativity in her tone.

“My work could call at any time,” Miranda persisted.

“You are relentless. Even as I utter that word I commit the sin of limiting you when you’re much more than that.”

“A stalker and a poet.”

Andrea shakes her head. “I am nature. I am destiny, but to put it in a way that you will understand...I know why you’ve given up most of your weekends for the last six months with your daughters. It started when you collapsed on the floor of your office bathroom. Ever since you’ve had a harder time getting through the night. You don’t even pay attention to Runway. And of course you can’t, when you’re conjuring ideas of how to die or say goodbye. I know about the letters.”

“No one...how do you know about them?” she said. 

She penned them the night before. Instead of spending another sleepless night staring at the ceiling she confirmed the girls were safe in their beds. Standing over them as they slept was the best she could do of late. It was too easy to become overwhelmed if she discussed life, love, and everything else in between with them. Too easy, and she’d be damned if she choked up and stuttered in front of her girls. 

“How do you know about my letters?”

“In 1946, a war profiteer named Collete spent a week at her estate in France writing letters to the families of victims. I watched her weep and write and clean herself up to start the process all over again. The night she mailed them, she made tea that she laced with poison and she died in her sleep. Collete was a coward up until the day that she died.”

“Who are you? Is this a joke?”

Andrea smirked. “No matter the terrain of the century, people always cling to that phrase before they accept the truth.”

“What truth?”

“That I’m not here to change anything. This is your choice and I respect it.”

“You’re here to watch?”

“Ultimately, yes. We psychopomp come in all shapes and sizes but there are very few that can stomach the suicides. Sometimes, if it’s worth it to me, I take an interest in one of you poor unfortunate souls.”

“Why?”

Andrea shrugged. “I’m not gentle enough for kids or old people— the patients on life support are boring— the victims of sudden deaths are too clingy. I find it fascinating that a species with a life span that’s a little longer than a fly would choose to end it prematurely. Your choice interests me, Miranda, sue me if I want to watch.”

“You’re not here to stop me?” asked Miranda slowly for clarification. “Are you in my head? Are you real or...someone I created to...so I won’t be alone.”

“I’m not in your head Miranda.”

“Then you ar— ”

“I’m not an angel or a devil,” Andrea interrupted her. “Death is twenty four seven business, with systems put in place to make sure certain souls go to the right places. My part in that system is to take you where you’ll end up when you’re done swallowing the pills and liquor you’ve got sitting on your office desk.”

“Where I’ll end up? Like heaven and hell?”

“In a sense.”

Miranda chewed this information over in her head. She was real, the waiter had acknowledged her as well as the traveler. She didn’t stink of booze, which would have been an easy way to excuse her odd behavior. Then there was the tidbit about the letters. In a moment of weakness she’d written them out and placed them neatly on her desk. She had her pills ready and a decanter of whiskey to wash it all down. It might have been the coward’s way out, but it was her choice.

“What do I call you?”

“Andrea.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I own nothing. Enjoy.

Nigel Kipling and his team presented mock ups for the new fall line shoot from an up and coming designer. The meeting started thirty minutes late thanks to Miranda, who was late to work. Of course, there was no reality where Miranda Priestly could be late or one where she would admit that she overslept. No one in their right mind would question her and in fact Emily had apologized profusely for the mistake. Surely, Miranda had told her to reschedule and she forgot. Miranda sniffed and queried about the inadequate temperature of her coffee.

The sketches blurred and along with brightly colored fabrics. It was hard to focus with death on her mind. It was her obsession over the last month when she received the diagnosis from her physician. To come so far for it all to end like this. 

Miranda needed to be careful especially since Andrea's presence inspired late night musings about the afterlife and her place in it. Last night, the psychopomp insisted she walk Miranda to her door. From there she helped herself to Miranda’s bar as she put on a Edith Piaf record. All the while her mind throbbed from the questions pulsing like her erratic heartbeat. It all gave Miranda a headache and her lack of appetite didn’t help. The other worldly figure in a woman’s body touched her books, desk, and trinkets from travels with mild interest while Edith’s silken pentameter wrapped around her. It took her to Paris in her youth, before she even stepped on French soil. Anything seemed possible as Miriam Princhek let go of the limiting beliefs of the family she left behind in their cocoon of mediocrity. 

She was always different and glad for it. Her first visit to Paris proved how much more different she was and it reinforced her faith in her own will. Youth was a time where she could comfort herself with time. Now, it was running out and not even her iron will could save her, but it could spare her the humiliation of losing her motor skills and be nursed for the smallest of tasks.

A little cramping in her hand, that’s how it started. The frequency of her discomfort prompted her appointment. She was ready to hear her doctor explain how she needed to prioritize relaxation over work. They had come to an agreement after twenty years together. Dr. Rowland gave her advice and Miranda chose to do the opposite if she didn’t implement the suggestions in moderation. 

Dr. Rowland’s expression was pained, but with the sensitivity of someone responsible for delivering bad news Miranda was diagnosed with ALS. She was in the beginning stages of Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis. 

It was too far of a fall from independence. She couldn’t live like that. There were hospitals and homes and centers dedicated to helping those types of people. She donated to charities that funded some of them. To be on the receiving end of anyone’s charity...to her face the world would be sympathetic. The rest would blame karma on her situation. 

She hadn’t woken up that morning and decided she’d end the nightmare before it became intolerable. Apparently, that time was coming soon according to Andrea the psychopomp. If she had to picture her spirit guide she could’ve done worse. The brunette was easy on the eyes in her Michael Kors jumpsuit and bangs with black eye-liner. In truth, she was stunning. She would take that to the grave. The woman seemed full of herself as it was or at the very least lacking in hubris. 

Andrea’s presence seemed to escalate Miranda’s relatively new propensity to entertain nostalgia. She remembered their conversation from last night:

Death has a face of a nymph, Miranda thinks from her side of the cab.

Andrea insisted that she make sure Miranda make it home safely. That included calling a cab and later letting Miranda pay for it. Andrea had no need to carry around things like paper. She followed Miranda up the steps of her townhome.

The magazine icon turned on her escort. “How does this work? It’s starting to feel like a bad date, I pay for everything until it happens?”

Andrea said, “It’s not the same for everyone. Sometimes I come by every few days, sometimes I never show myself, and sometimes I stick to the dying like white on rice because they’re just that interesting to me.”

“I fall into the latter category I presume.”

“There aren’t a lot of people like who are coherent and able to afford my lavish lifestyle. The entertainers that overdose go into depressing monologues. The older people are far gone in illness or downright crazy when they decide to end it all. There are very few that make this decision with dry eyes and a clear head all the way to the end.”

Here she was again separating herself from the pack. “If you come in then what?”

Andrea paused thoughtfully. “I make myself at home.”

“If I refuse?”

“I once knew a psychopomp with a bad sense of direction. She led her charge into a very nasty place where he had to relive being buried alive for an eternity. She recognized him from her time amongst the living. She was only fifty years in the job, that’s not a long time to truly break free of emotions.”

“You don’t feel?”

“On the contrary, I feel this disrespectful wind and how much this body dislikes the cold. Can we continue this inside?”

They didn’t resume the conversation when they retired to Miranda’s study. Edith Piaf filled the silence when Andrea wasn’t investigating various knick knacks or creating noise when she made herself a drink.

When she looked down it seemed to shut off one sense at a time until she was in a place where the sensations of hearing, smelling, tasting, and touching was lost to her. She was floating. Miranda thought she was dreaming. She had to be. Except the woman beside her wouldn’t let her entertain that notion for long. Feeling as if she’d woken up from a dream she sat up in her chair. She hadn’t even realized she’d been slouching and silently she berated herself.

“Miranda?” Nigel’s canted head came into view.

“That’s all,” she said in reflex when she realized she didn’t have the energy to ask her team to repeat what she missed. 

Fortunately, they were well trained to take all of Miranda’s moods in stride and collected their fabric quietly. They had the good sense to act as if they were the ones that had done the disservice by assuming that Miranda would pay attention to a meeting she had called. Everyone except for Nigel.

“That may work on them, but you’ll have to do a little bit better with me.”

“The girls are with their father for the summer.”

“That’s usually when you do your best work. You dive right in and by the time you come up for air they’re back.”

Miranda hummed.

His eyes jumped over his glasses. “Or is there someone else?”

“The ink isn’t even dry yet on my divorce papers,” she said testily.

“Since when does attraction adhere to the small details...or the big ones?”

“I haven’t met anyone.”

“That glazed over gaze you gave every garment says otherwise.”

“Why are you still in my office?”

“Secrets have a magnetic effect on me. It’s hard to pull myself away.”

“Do try.”

She didn’t have a good answer for him. She chose to rely on a staple, which didn’t scare Nigel as much as she would have liked. Although, he knew a lost cause when he saw one, for now.

Miranda’s phone rang. She was able to smile a little when she saw Caroline’s name flash. Her girls were calling to say they made it safe and settled in. She received the text from her ex earlier in the morning. She was grateful that she was one of the first thoughts her daughters had after waking up.

Emily appeared with a fresh coffee wearing an anxious expression that made her look more constipated than usual. Miranda glared at the girl as the girls hurried off the phone to begin their day of boating. 

“Yes?”

“Andrea is here to see you.”

There was no Andrea on Miranda’s calendar, but who knows what the brunette had said to Emily to convince her to confirm with Miranda directly. It probably didn’t help that she didn’t feel confident in her own scheduling because of this morning. 

“Shall I tell her you’re busy?” Emily asked.

“Miranda Priestly is too busy for everyone else. She is never too busy for me,” Andrea corrected her waltzing into her office in a white sleeveless pant suit and a pearl necklace.

Miranda pursed her lips as Emily looked between the two women.

“Run along Emily,” ordered Andrea with a winning grin.

The assistant didn’t hesitate. It was as if Miranda herself had ordered it leaving the white haired woman looking more curious than angry when Andrea sat across from her.

“Beautiful view,” the brunette said.

“What was that little parlor trick? Emily only says how high to me when I say jump.”

“It’s part of my charm,” said Andrea.

Miranda wasn’t convinced. Eventually the brunette conceded.

“It’s a thrall. Suicide is not an easy way to die. In your last moments instead of panic or fear I even out the ride with a touch. I’m a tonic so to speak.”

“And that’s what you did to Emily?”

“It’s a version of it. What I did to your assistant is a convenient party trick,” said Andrea standing up and moving to the window. “Is this really how you want to spend your last days behind these four walls?”

“I never pictured death to be so flippant,” said Miranda.

“I’m one of a kind.”

The magazine mogul heard Andrea’s smile and picked up her coffee.

“What do you say, let’s get out of here.”

“It’s not even lunch yet,” said Miranda, understanding how weak her response sounded. She looked over her coffee mug to the brunette. “You don’t need me as your meal ticket. You obviously have gifts to procure what you want.”

“True, but I think it’s more fun to have a beautiful woman buy me dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment. I get ideas from what you all have to say. Also, thank you to the readers that take out the time to comment and kudos.


	3. Chapter 3

Miranda’s psychopomp tilted her head to the right as she watched two older women playing chess in the park. There were merchants stationed in their temporary spots selling jewelry, books, clothes, handmade trinkets, and more. There was even a troupe securing an open space to perform. The kids couldn’t have been older than thirteen Miranda noticed, her thoughts went immediately to imagining her daughter’s lives without her. Sometimes, life really was horrendous.

Andrea led her to a silver truck where smelling a whiff would induce weight gain. Andrea also ordered for Miranda, which was one thing that would have irritated her on any other day. Surprisingly, she was displeased with Andrea’s choice after her first bite. This was a first, how appropriate it would happen right before dying.

Andrea hummed as she watched a pawn be sacrificed for a far superior move. The brunette was quiet unlike the rest of the time that Miranda had known her. She studied her interest in the game as well as the looks on each player's stern face. It fascinated Miranda, that someone who claimed to be as old as eternity could still possess childlike wonder.

Miranda bit into her burrito. 

There were no lines in Andrea’s eyes. Her skin was tight and soft. The body itself couldn’t be more than thirty years old. Before Andrea inhabited this woman as her host, she was someone else’s daughter, lover, friend, student, mentor, co-conspirator, and more titles that make up a multi-dimensional human being. She was more than a vessel or at least that’s what Miranda convinced herself. It made her angry to think of her being worn like a costume.

“Who was she?” asked Miranda. It startled her to hear her own voice.

Andrea’s brows hiked at the question without taking her eyes off the two chess players. “Who?”

“The girl you’re wearing.”

Andrea slid closer and threw her arm over the bench and around Miranda’s shoulder. “Do you like?”

“She’s adequate I suppose.”

“She does clean up nicely,” answered Andrea. 

Before her attention could return to the players Miranda grabbed her chin. She stroked her right cheek then the left. “How did she die?”

“Overdose, I think.”

“Poor girl,” said Miranda. Her world wasn’t always glamorous. In a private corner the girls and boys self overcompensate with wicked vices. She was far from the hours of guilt she endured just settling into her role as editor and chief of Runway.

Andrea shrugged, catching Miranda’s hand and sitting in her lap as she turned back to the game.

“Did she have family?”

“Should I be concerned that you’re more concerned about another woman when you have me right here.”

“Are you really here?” Miranda withdrew her hand from Andrea’s grasp. “I haven’t decided if you’re real or not.”

“What will convince you?”

“Nothing. If you’ve made me up then obviously this conversation is only in my head.”

“So you’re the old lady talking to herself in the park, now?”

Miranda would look at this moment as a knee jerk reaction. She had matured from years of letting people in so completely that she was prompted to do something such as throwing a tantrum. Still, it was oddly satisfying when she smeared the rest of her gut truck fare all over Andrea’s smug face.

She didn’t meet any of the gazes that were drawn to their private drama. She was shocked and amused by her own behavior and Andrea’s mirrored shock. She took a napkin with her when she walked away to wipe mustard and chili from her arm. Miranda was intent on getting away from Andrea. As she walked with a purpose toward a line of taxis she felt Andrea closing in.

“Miranda.”

Old. Decrepit. Out of date. Irrelevant. She remembered a time when she was on the other side of that spectrum. It wouldn’t have been hypocritical to laugh at the woman holding onto being relevant by her nails. Miranda had been cruel coming up. She thought she needed to be and sustained that thinking even now. 

Old lady. It practically rolled off the tongue and landed eloquently on a tower of ineloquent observations about her age of late. Her beauty was fading. Her power would go with it and people would suggest that she bow out gracefully. What did those people know? What did they know about the people she hurt, the guilt she buried, the humiliation she swallowed, and the mercilessness of her strategy? They didn’t know anything. Andrea didn’t know anything, nothing. 

Her thoughts ran through her brain like a stampede. She couldn’t hear. She couldn’t see, but she could feel. It was hard to breath, but she was convinced the distance between her and Andrea would help. It would. Miranda had the sinking feeling that her feet could carry her faster and farther and still she wouldn’t get anywhere. She stepped into the street ready to run across it when two hands wrapped themselves around her waist. The grip was strong and she couldn’t rip free, which was a blessing within itself, because if it had she would have been flattened by an oncoming car.

Her heart pounded. The heart behind her pounded. Warm breath tickled her ear and the arms didn’t make an effort to let her go.

“I want to die,” Miranda whispered. She watched the passing driver reach out the window to flat her with their middle finger. “That would have been the end of me.”

“Roadkill, that’s not a fitting end.”

“It would have been easier for my girls to stomach,” Miranda finally pulled away. “At least they wouldn’t have known I chose to leave them.”

“If it’s any consolation, you don’t have much of a choice.”

“They’re too young to see it that way. They don’t know what it’s like to do what I’ve done. They won’t understand the fear of what comes next for me.”

“I understand,” Andrea said with an edge of seriousness that was unsettling and comforting.

The jokes were set aside at least for the moment and Miranda could breathe the same air. “You saved me.”

“Yes, now we’re both a mess.”

Miranda didn’t even want to think what her back looked like after being pressed against Andrea, who still wore the other woman’s lunch.

“Why did you do that?” asked Miranda.

“Magazine Icon meets a Tragic End as Roadkill. You deserve a better headline.”

“I have to have rules with you, if we’re going to do this,” Miranda brushed her hair back into place, resembling the editor and chief of Runway.

“You can’t manage me like you manage the rest of your life. If anything Miranda your situation should have educated you on what you can and can’t control.”

“Don’t call me old.”

“I could never see you as old. You’re a child compared to me.”

Miranda’s brow curved and the move made Andrea’s mouth twist in a barely restrained smirk. “For the sake of never being marinated in chili and mustard, I swear I won’t do it again.”

“Andy?” Neither woman responded until the owner of blue Jimmy Choos closed in on them. Her smile was unsure and only strengthened when her confidence built. “Where have you been?”

Miranda and Andrea shared a measured look and then eyed the brown skinned newcomer with guarded interest. 

“Hi, I’m Lily,” she greeted Miranda. “I’m the gullible best friend who lies to ten-year-old’s when their mother doesn’t come back after a cigarette run. Jesus, Andy I should really kick your ass right now.”

“You have a daughter?” Miranda finds her voice.

“I don’t have a daughter,” Andrea corrects her. She grabs Miranda’s arm determined to drag her to the nearest taxi.

“Hey,” Lily blocked their retreat. “Get your shit together. She hasn’t seen you in two days and we’re already late.” Lily shoved both women in the direction of the park.

The troupe that Miranda noticed earlier were more of a collective now that the grassy area they commandeered became a stage for a children’s play. On a large yellow poster board in red paint it read: 

ALIENS AT SCHOOL

Lily shoved them closer. It wasn’t hard to recognize the child Lily claimed belonged to Andrea. She wore a collared shirt, shoulder length brown hair, and big brown eyes that bore into Andrea as the other kids chatted among themselves. The connection was broken when Lily pushed a handful of wipes from her purse at Andrea. She suggested she clean herself up. 

Miranda only asked if Andrea could return the favor reminded of how tightly she had pressed herself against her back.


	4. Chapter 4

They were an exuberant bunch of children, Miranda thought. It wasn’t as painful to watch as she would have thought if someone had invited her to a play by untrained actors under thirteen. The girl that was supposed to be Andrea’s daughter was a bubble of energy and if Miranda gauged the play correctly, she was the lead. Even if she wasn’t, Miranda only had eyes for the miniature version of her psychopomp.

“How much and how long?”

“Pardon?” Miranda said to Lily.

“I’m not judging you. I’m in the business, too. I’m not like Andy. I couldn’t go as far as she does. She likes to dress up. That girl can turn into anyone you want her to be. The vanilla clients are more my speed, the ones who want companionship, maybe some cuddling.”

“You’ve got the wrong idea.”

“We’re all into something. If you like dressing women up and turning them into your fantasy lover, who am I to judge.”

“That’s not what this is.”

“You’re one of those women that don’t want to ruin the fantasy with sex?”

“I’m not one of those women.”

“You paid for those clothes she’s wearing and whatever else she’s been doing since she hasn’t been home to take care of her daughter. Andy said she went out for cigarettes ‘that’s code for going out to meet a client’. You’re not who she went out to see? You’re not the one she’s been with all this time?”

“No.”

Sensing that the older woman would share more, Lily stepped away to speak to a proud mother carrying her camera.

“What are the odds?” Andrea murmured under her breath.

“You’re the professional body snatcher. This can’t be the first time you’ve been caught with the hand in the cookie jar?” Miranda raised her chin to the girl singing her part.

“Let’s leave.”

“I’d rather we didn’t.”

Andrea blinked at the play. “You’re enjoying this?”

“The play or seeing death squirm?”

“Death doesn’t squirm,” Andrea frowned.

Miranda smirked. 

Andrea squinted at the shorter woman. Not to be outdone she said, “You’re partial to brunettes.”

Miranda shifted her weight from her left to her right. “Pardon.”

“You like the way I look,” said Andrea with the same bravado that had been testing Miranda’s patience.

Miranda began clapping at a slower cadence than the rest of the crowd applauding the thirty minute play. “You put yourself in the body of a roleplay artist.” she asked.

“A what?”

“You’re a doll. People pay you to be their friend, their lover, their sister, or their brother that kind of thing. Really, did you even consider who it was you’re wearing?”

“Why should I?” Andrea pursed her lips as she shoved her hands in her pockets. 

“To avoid playing with people’s emotions.”

Miranda understood emotions were a complicated thing that was too messy to indulge. Yet, here she was standing there glaring at her supposed guide.

“You’re upset with me,” Andrea guessed.

“You’re a child.”

“Why are you upset with me now?”

“You take what you want. You took that mother from her daughter.”

“I claimed a vacant corpse, who I didn’t know had a child.”

“Who makes you accountable for your actions?”

“I have one job. My methods are my own and I do a damn good job of sending off souls to their respective destinations.”

“Would you like a cookie?”

Miranda crossed her arms. She wanted to be close when Miranda asked her what she wanted. Andrea wanted the white haired woman to understand. She had pursued Miranda with the idea that she would understand that there were just some things that went beyond black and white. There was a wonderful gray world for people like her.


	5. Chapter 5

Miranda walked away. Not even a glance back. Andrea didn’t expect it, but she couldn’t pull her eyes away from Miranda.

“Lily got called into work,” the young girl said as she stood beside the taller brunette. “It’s just us for Chinese takeout tonight.”

Andrea glared at the child before she resumed staring at the retreating form of Miranda Priestly.

“You’ve been gone for days. I thought you were in a ditch somewhere. You tell Lily you leave for cigarettes and you don’t even text me afterwards to let me know that you’re okay. We agreed you send a burger emoji if you’re okay and not coming home.”

“It must’ve slipped my mind.”

“Don’t play like you’ve got amnesia about how this works, Andy.”

“Is that how you talk to your mother?” Andrea sinking her hands into her pockets. She began walking away uninterested in an answer. 

The hurried footsteps hitting pavement alerted her to the presence of the girl. “You never wanted me to call you one before.”

Andrea snorted glaring at the strands of hair flying into her face. She kept her hands in her pockets.

“Where are you going?”

“This way.”

Cameron shook her head. “You’re going the wrong way.”

“I doubt that.”

“Our house is in the other direction.”

“Is it?” Andrea stopped on the sidewalk. “Then you lead the way and I’ll catch up.”

The younger girl frowned. “Do I have stupid on my forehead? I want in.”

“In?”

“Yea, whatever you’re doing with Snow White, I want in. What’s the play?”

“Play?”

“The con. I’m assuming when Lily dragged you to the park you were in the middle of the Pink Sweetheart when Snow White got the rude awakening, I exist. You got caught in a lie and now you’ve got to double down. Luckily, my calendar just cleared up.”

“I don’t need you.”

“Come on, I can play Little Orphan Annie on the front end and get her back for you. You bring up the rear with Pink Sweetheart and you’re back where you left off.”

“You don’t know what you’re up against,” Andrea warned. “Miranda Priestly isn’t forgiving. She’s built her whole reputation on it.” Andrea bent at the hip to drop to the girl’s eye level. “She’ll eat you alive.” 

“She can’t. I’m too good.” the girl claimed.

The wind continued to blow. Conversations filtered in around them as they stood at a standstill. It hadn’t occurred to Andrea that she’d meet the prior owner of her body’s child. It also hadn't occurred to her that her lifestyle choices bordered on criminal if she wasn’t knee deep in that realm. Then there was this child refusing to move and unwilling to accept that she would be cut out of this perceived con.

Fergie’s ‘London Bridge’ interrupted Andrea’s thoughts. It came blasting from Emily's phone she'd tucked inside her trouser pockets. She withdrew the phone she’d stolen from Miranda’s assistant. Miranda’s name flashed on the screen.

“It’s her isn’t it. Let me answer it,” the girl demanded. 

Slowly Andrea relinquished her phone, for the sake of curiosity.

The young girl reached out her hand as Miranda delivered another impatient hello. “Hello, Emily?”

“Hello?” the young girl responded.

Miranda paused. “Who is this?”

“My name is Cameron. Is this Snow White?”

“Who? How do you have my assistant’s phone?”

“I don’t know. I took the phone from my mother. I was going to sell it at a local pawn shop to pay for dinner tonight.”

Cameron put her nail in her mouth as she waited for the news to marinate. 

“What pawn shop?” asked Miranda.

“Pawn Fortune, they know me there.”

The call lasted for another minute when Miranda instructed the girl to meet her at another address. It was a hotel, she’d meet her in there after she left work for the day. Cameron promised she’d be there after Miranda demanded to hear it. The smaller brunette handed the phone back to Andrea who eyed the device strangely.

She wouldn’t admit the kid was good. “What do people call you?”

“Usually a pain in their ass,” Cameron said as she shrugged. “Lily says it's hereditary.”


	6. Chapter 6

The Hotel Ganbury was a modern. It was built across from new businesses, boutiques, and an Asian eatery that captured Cameron’s interest. They inhaled a thin cloud of cigarette smoke from a young couple smoking near the entrance. The lobby was full of reflective surfaces and white flowers. When Cameron reached the front desk there was a woman with red hair waiting on them. She used the key card to tap her thigh impatiently. 

Andrea followed Cameron. She kept her distance as she observed the exchange. She was close enough to hear the shrill complaints erupting from Emily.

Emily spoke with the hand holding the room key.   
“Miranda writes checks for charity to support the homeless. Are you really homeless? Even if you were homeless, it doesn’t make sense that Miranda would have me come down here to deliver this key.”

“I have a room?”

“You won’t be homeless for tonight, if you are really homeless.” Emily continued as if she had to validate her cruelness. “I’m paid to look out for Miranda’s interests.”

Cameron scoffed. “It’s written all over you, what you get paid to do.”

The redhead’s cheeks were warmed by a bright red glow that rivaled the color of her hair. “I don’t know who you think you are…”

“The only thing you need to know is that key belongs to me,” Cameron said holding Emily’s phone hostage.

The redhead squinted. When it turned into a scowl she held out the card and received her key card. Emily gave one final look to the shorter girl before she disappeared into the white light of the afternoon sun. The entryway was all glass and light. 

Andrea pushed the button to the elevator. They rose three stories before reaching the fourth floor.

“While we wait, you can tell me what’s going on,” Cameron said looking small on the plush couch she commandeered. The rest of the furniture looked just as inviting, but she’d fallen in love at first sight. Her eyes hadn’t steered her astray as she practically sank in the cushions.

To Andrea, Cameron seemed younger and less inclined to irritate the older brunette. Children, she rarely came across them in her line of work. The teenagers were a higher risk, still, she steered clear of them and their toxic hormones. She preferred the older people, who lived and made their decisions with an informed perspective.

“Miranda and I knew each other in another life,” Andrea shared.

She disliked Andrea’s indulgent tone. “You want something from her. Or, she has something of yours.” Cameron dropped her face into her hand. Andrea sat in the adjacent chair. It was too warm to light the fireplace, but the unobstructed view was nice. “I don’t work for free. So whatever this is, I still want to get paid.”

“Is it healthy to be this cynical at your age?”

“I don’t think it’ll stunt my growth or anything. So, Miranda Priestly, she’s rich and famous and a million years out of your league. If this isn’t about money, what’s the gain?”

“Perspective.”

“Perspective,” Cameron mocked the older brunette. “Another mark? Her ex husband? Someone from her international travels? Someone younger.”

“Don’t be a dick.”

“What’s wrong with you?” the girl’s nose wrinkled. “You’re acting weird. You’ve been off since the park.”

“Says the girl who sings musicals in the park one minute and in the next she’s trying to stage a heist.”

“You have your ways to keep sane. I have mine.” Cameron rolled on her stomach using a pillow to lay on. “Room service?”

“Miranda is different,” Andrea said slowly, enunciating each syllable. “She’s not a life sized piggy bank, she’s important.”

Cameron squeezed her pillow. She heard an odd inflection in her mother’s voice she’d never heard before “Why?”

“I see a woman who is just as concerned about her sanity as the rest of us.”

“She’s not like us,” Cameron said with a hard tone as if people like Miranda were another species. “If this is about a woman, I swear I’ll…”

Perhaps it was in Andrea’s best interest to conserve her energy. Cameron’s values are in line to personality traits that had everything to do with her real mother. What kind of lessons had she passed down to her daughter? Hard lessons and for the first time she’d thought about the circumstances of her mother’s death. 

Andy must have disliked life enough to give her daughter such a dark gift. Visions of an older Cameron slouched over a brown coffee table. Her eyes were low. Her hair looked like it hadn’t been combed through in months. The table is covered in debris and drugs. The scent of stale beer, piss, and worse choices accompanied the uninvited images. 

To Cameron life was about surviving and treating every day as a cynical hunt. It was a drastic change from what Andrea had been taught in another life, with another Miranda.


	7. Chapter 7

Miranda Priestly took off her glasses and pinched the bridge of her nose. She allowed herself this in the privacy of her car. She’d stayed too long at work. She meant to leave two hours ago, but a small emergency about the budget needed to be addressed with Irv Ravitz. 

He might be on the top of the list of people, who wouldn’t mourn Miranda when she died. There were fans, who would stumble over themselves in tears and her girls, they would cry for her. Irv Ravitz, he’d probably have a celebratory drink and finally implement the changes Miranda refused to make in her reign. The man should really keep to his numbers and his mistresses.

Miranda moved on autopilot when the car stopped in the front of the hotel. Her driver opened the door and she wished him a goodnight. It wasn’t the most prestigious hotel in the city, which their policies on discretion more than made up for. There were plenty of nights when the town home housed an irate husband. To avoid the fight she always had a room on retainer. She also loaned it out to business associates and politicians with bad life choices. It was usually easier to get what she wanted after a visit.

Once more she shared her haven with someone else in need, a child. She was around the same age as her daughters. Alone in the world except for a protective aunt and an agent of death wearing her mother’s skin. A hotel room with room service was the least she could do. She would want the same for Cassidy and Caroline.

Miranda knocked. Cameron answered. She widened the door to let herself in leaving the child to close the door behind her. The little brunette had the television on. A feast in silver trays were scattered on tables and chairs.

“Did you order everything on the menu?”

“Almost. I tasted the best burger I’ve ever had.”  
“You have four star chefs cooking in the kitchen and you order a burger?”

Cameron shrugged. “It’s what I know.”

“That’s not all you know,” said Miranda. She stood behind a chair resting her hand there. “How is it that you came upon my assistant’s phone?”

“When mom was distracted I took it.”

“I couldn’t have you selling my assistant’s phone. She wouldn’t get anything done, hence neither would I.”

“Bob, would’ve coughed up fifty dollars for the phone. I’d take the room and the room service anytime.”

“Lily seems like an attentive caregiver, yet you’re on a first name basis with your pawnshop broker.”

“Cameron,”

“Pardon.”

“My name is Cameron. I’d like to be on a first name basis with you, Miranda.”

Miranda studied the intense child. “Where is your mother now?”

Cameron dropped back onto the cushion kicking her feet up. She muted the television. “She didn’t say. That’s just like her, though. If she doesn’t dump me with Aunt Lily then I have to do things where it pays to know a pawnshop owner’s first name.” She threw her head back. “I don’t want to do that anymore. I want to work for you.”

“I only offer jobs to parties eighteen and up.”

“You should offer jobs to smart people.”

“I usually do.”

“I’ve got one of the most influential women in the world paying for my hotel and food. It doesn’t get any smarter than that.”  
“Aren’t you a little opportunist,” Miranda observed.

“I’ll fetch you coffee. I’ll pick up your dry cleaning. I’ll-”

“Have me arrested for ignoring child labor laws,” Miranda interrupted her. “You can stay tonight. You can stay the week, after that we’ll have to make other arrangements.”

“What arrangement do you have with my mother.”

Miranda paused. “That’s complicated.”

“I’ve been known to put two and two together. You’re being nice to me because you’re sleeping with my mom. You’re not the first. One guy took us to a carnival and bought me cotton candy and a twelve inch hot dog. He liked to call me ‘suga’. I hate when they give me pet names.”

“You’re mother and I aren’t...we aren’t doing that. You needn’t worry about me assigning you a pet name.”

“What are you going to figure out in a week that you don’t know right now?”

Miranda didn’t have an answer for that. She unbuttoned her jacket and draped it over the chair in front of her. Next she slipped off her heels. She took the other corner of the couch and leaned her head back.

“I have two girls. I suppose you remind me of them.”

“Where are they?”

“They’re spending the summer with their father while I figure out how...while I figure out some things.”

“When my mother told my parents she liked women they stopped talking to her. You think your daughters will stop talking to you?”

Miranda almost choked. “No.”

The conversation fizzled out. Soon the sitcom prevailed and both child and mogul let themselves be drawn in. It was mind numbing enough to soothe them into a safe cocoon. Neither fought when their eyes got heavy. Neither fought the sinking sensation of slipping into a dream. When they submitted, Andrea found them leaning against their respective corners with their eyes closed and their mouths open. She knelt in front of Miranda, first.

Andrea picked up a hand tracing the skin along the vein. She placed the hand delicately on her lap. Her touch trailed to her fingers and lingered there even as blue eyes fluttered awake.

“What time is it?”

Andrea didn’t look surprised when she heard Miranda’s question. “Late.”

“I should go.”

“Let me put her to bed,” she nodded over to the child. “I’ll take you home.”

Andrea’s movements were precise when she carried Cameron to bed. Miranda brought up the rear and draped the blanket over her body. She held herself as both women stood side by side.

“You shouldn’t have arranged this for her.”

“That’s not fair. She doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“And Miranda Priestly turned fairy godmother wants to make it better?”

The white haired woman shot the brunette a glare before she turned on her heel. Andrea followed, catching Miranda’s arm when she reached her jacket.

“I don’t respond well to people patronizing me.”

“I don’t like it when you walk away from me.”

“Oh, I forgot you like to watch,” Miranda said as she pulled her arm free. She stepped into Andrea’s personal space. She pushed Andrea causing her to collapse on the arms of the couch.

“Is another lecture on my poor choices as a body snatcher in my near future?”

“I can recognize when I’m speaking to a brick wall.”

Andrea chuckled. Andrea reached for Miranda’s hand, using it to touch her face while simultaneously pulling the woman closer. “Do I feel like a brick to you?”  
Andrea guided Miranda’s hand from her cheek to her mouth. She kissed her fingers. 

“I’m not sure what I feel,” she said leaning into Andrea. 

Her warmth was inviting. The softness of her skin contrasted with the cold images of death. It was tempting to give in to the need of being touched. She hadn’t shared her bed with anyone in four long months. Despite the circumstances it wasn’t altogether unappealing to submit to needs Andrea seemed more than willing to meet.

Miranda slipped out of her reach and worked on the buttons of her blouse. “I know what I want to feel.”

Andrea’s mouth parted. “Yea?”

“Yea,” she said as she stepped out of her skirt.

Andrea spreads her legs wide. Miranda saunters between strong thighs. She is welcomed by two hands that seek out her skin as Andrea’s mouth closes hungrily around Miranda’s nipple.


	8. Chapter 8

There was safety in the darkness. Miranda can pretend she’s no longer editor and chief of an esteemed magazine. She can pretend she isn’t going to end her life soon. Andrea can pretend she isn’t an agent of death and hundreds of years older than the woman she’s holding. All the pretending put them in a cocoon of their own making. They built it with fire, longing, and unspoken wishes.

Miranda’s conscious wish was for Andrea to push harder. She slammed and rolled her hips. She whispered her wishes in an eager ear. Andrea’s half chuckle half growl was the only sound that came before Andrea obeyed.

Miranda’s mouth covered Andrea’s to stifle her moan. She rode three long fingers and it was on the tip of her tongue to beg for a fourth, she was close. Andrea held onto the white haired woman. Her skin would bruise and be the focal point of Miranda’s rumination later. For now, later was too far ahead in the future to focus on. Miranda jerked, trembled, and bit Andrea’s lip when she began seeing stars and murmuring unintelligently.

Andrea’s shoulder saved her as she slumped, panting. She felt Andrea’s hand rubbing circles on her back.  
“Don’t you dare move,” she demanded as she felt Andrea’s fingers maneuvering to slip out.

Again, the agent of death obeyed. 

“Stay,” Miranda said more gently. 

Neither woman speaks. The city isn’t as quiet as their room. They hear tires screeching, horns honking, doors slamming, and people having unintelligible conversations. When the sweat has dried and Miranda’s buttoning her blouse, she looks up to the contemplative expression directed towards her. It’s the most serious she’s ever seen Andrea since their first meeting.

“If I asked you what you’re thinking, would you tell me the truth?” Miranda asked.

“Yeah, you won’t like it,” Andrea said, making no move to make herself look decent. 

Her hair was in a disarray from when Miranda’s hands grabbed her. Her shirt was missing buttons. Again, Miranda had been overly aggressive and impatient. Miranda let Andrea keep her secrets and instead said, “It’s late.”

“There’s a second bedroom,” Andrea nodded across the room. It sat behind the kitchen. 

Confirming the room existed slowed her fingers down. Miranda stood forgetting her heels in front of the couch. “How long has that been there?” Miranda asked dumbly.

Andrea collected them for her as she followed the shorter woman to the second bedroom. When Miranda stopped in the entranceway she leaned into her back and inhaled her scent. It was a sad and sophisticated scent that shouldn’t have smelled sweet, yet it did.

“I don...I don’t know what to make of this,” Miranda said honestly.

“If I’m not mistaken they created rooms like these rooms for unambiguous purposes.”

Miranda’s legs weren’t working.

“If you’re thinking too hard then you care too much,” Andrea created a trail of kisses along her neck.

Part of her should care. Miranda knows it. She can feel it in her bones, except she doesn’t want to dissect anything. Andrea knows her secrets. She accepts them and won’t devalue Miranda’s choices by judging her on irrelevant principles. 

“Turn off that lovely brain,” Andrea coaxed. “My body really likes your body,” Andrea confessed.

Andrea’s fingers descend from Miranda’s neck to her center.

“No,” Miranda whispered.

To Andrea it sounded like a glass shattering on concrete. Her hands stopped moving. She stepped away still holding onto Miranda’s heels. 

“What we just did...I didn’t mean it.”

“Which part?” Andrea tilted her head. “All of it sounded earnest and dare I say, desperate.”

Miranda glared. “I wanted to feel something. If it hadn’t been you then it would have been someone else.”

“But those were my fingers you wanted inside of you.”

“Enough,” Miranda borrowed some unseen strength clearing the fog from her after sex haze. 

Andrea closed the distance between them. The hand that had caressed the white haired woman so lovingly closed around Miranda’s neck. Such a delicate and breakable neck. “You don’t know what it means to take what you want. I could show you. I could make you quiver and beg for it, but I give willingly.”

Miranda matches Andrea’s steps until she’s backed up against the bed. She loses her balance and she’s bouncing on the mattress staring up at the towering woman.

“You mistake me for someone who doesn’t expect respect.” Andrea released Miranda’s neck. She used her thumb to caress Miranda’s lower lip. “I deserve respect don’t I, Miranda?”

The white haired woman nodded. 

“Say it.”

Miranda sucked in her lip when Andrea released it. Her panties are soaked. Her legs are open, but nowhere near as wide as she needs them to be. Andrea doesn’t bestow her trademark smug smirk. She noticed the effect of her words and she’s uncaring. No, not uncaring, she wants to teach Miranda a lesson. 

When was the last time did Miranda allow someone to command her in bed or otherwise? Miranda couldn’t remember, nor did she think it elicit the flood of arousal pooling between her legs. 

“Say. It.” Andrea repeated.

Miranda’s hands rose to Andrea’s trouser. She released a button. She kissed the exposed skin. She said, “You deserve respect, Andrea.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments and the kudos.

Sleep, in Andrea’s opinion, the best part of claiming a human body. Time was a different concept for her and in her line of work, if she were to work in her original form, she’d never need sleep. It felt nice, along with the other earthly pleasures denied to her and her kind in their original form.

Sleeping was a necessary action for her body to recuperate, especially after nights like last night. Miranda had been incredibly obedient and when necessary, vicious. Andrea hadn’t been displeased by the white haired woman’s voracious appetite. She spotted it, just under the surface of the woman, who was always so in control. Everything lived in the realm of extremes. They couldn’t give and take in reasonable measures, not when it came down to power. Not when it came down to vulnerability.

Miranda was dying. As a result of making the conscious decision to shorten her life span on her own terms, Andrea imagined she wanted to escape. Last night, she escaped into a fantasy where she wasn’t dying, she didn’t sit at the helm of a world famous magazine, she wasn’t newly divorced, or a mother of two. She was a woman stripped of her titles and in her naked glory she was magnificent.

Andrea rolled over unsurprised by the cold sheets. The shrill ringing of a phone punctured her peaceful sleep. In the world between sleep and wakefulness she felt Miranda rise from the bed. A few choice words could be heard during her search for the loud device. Finally, when she discovered it underneath a discarded blouse she answered it sounding nothing like the begging nymph from an hour ago. Andrea had smiled in her pillow and that’s how she’d drifted to sleep. 

Now that she was alert, she smelled breakfast. Andrea stood in the entryway dividing her bedroom from the kitchen. She plucked the crust from her eye. 

“I almost forgot about you.”

“That’s how it sounded last night,” said Cameron. 

“My first impressions of her did not include ‘screamer’.”

Cameron’s face wrinkled as she focused on her plate. “We don’t need to discuss any of that while I’m eating.”

Andrea grunted. “Any of that for me?”

French toast, scrambled eggs, bacon, slices of fruit kiwi, and a box cereal sat in front of her. Cameron slid Andrea the cereal. The taller woman inspected the picture of raisin and flakes. “

“It’s good for people your age,” the girl said before she stuffed her mouth with eggs and bacon.

Andrea shook the contents into a white bowl. 

“Did you run her off or are we still in business?” the girl asked.

“You got yourself a nice hotel room and free food for a week,” Andrea said. “You’re welcome.”

“You got laid, you’re welcome.”

“Hell will freeze over before I need help from a kid to get laid.”

“I guess the devil’s learning how to ice skate.”

Andrea poured milk into her almost forgotten cereal. Her spoon disappeared underneath the multicolored rings in her bowl.

“She’s got a soft spot for kids. You could tell her I’m dying. You’ve over extended your credit cards and you need to pay for this insanely expensive and experimental surgery.”

“Did you get that from TV?”

“Or...I could have been recently liberated from a cult. You need money to cover my treatment from such a traumatic experience. The facility is also insanely expensive.”

“A cult?”

“Or….”

“You could write down these stories you come up with in your head and make an award winning Broadway show. At the very least, you’ve got soap opera material.”

“Do you remember the last guy? Roman, not so nice guy that liked to dress you up in counterfeit Dolce and slapped you around when you used too many big words. I like this one, Miranda. This feels better. There are plenty of rich abusive idiots like Roman to steal from, but we won’t need to if we can get a clean million from her.”

Finding her body in a ditch alone and with a needle in her arm made much more sense. The previous owner liked to live dangerously and imparted her questionable instincts on an impressionable opportunist.

“One million from Miranda?”

“You don’t think you’re worth it?” the girl challenged.

“That’s no way to live. You give your worth a number and you sell yourself short.”

Cameron’s eyes burned with interest. “You think we can get more?”

She was going to live her life hurting people. There were no laws that governed goodness. The universe believed in balance and not necessarily of good or bad, just balance. Andrea couldn’t judge harshly it wasn’t in her nature nor would she have subscribed to it even if she could feel.

Andrea studied the hungry kid. Everyone’s addicted to something, it happened that this kid was addicted to the game. It was safe to assume the apple didn’t fall far from the tree and that greatly concerned Andrea since she’d found the tree in a ditch.

“What would you do with one million dollars?”

Cameron stopped chewing to consider her answer.

“Money is what you want. It will change your life for the better. What would you do for one million dollars? You have no problem with lying, telling someone you’re dying. I bet you could play the part, too.”

Cameron left her knife and fork on her plate. Andrea had her full attention. “You’re being weird.”

“I suppose that’s the first sign isn’t it,” she scanned her body. She’d been in for too long as it is. “I guess that can’t be helped. I’m not hearing the voices anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The voices of the weary. It’s like a constant background noise for me, but the longer I stay here like this the sound gets fainter. It’s the kind of sound that can drive you crazy if you let it. Some people do, it’s one of the reasons why not just anyone can choose to do what I do.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“Keep an open mind,” Andrea suggested lightly. She wore a pointed expression. “Besides the way I look, what else do I have in common with your mother?”

This earned a thoughtful look from the younger girl. “Nothing,” 

“I’ve never met a man named Roman. I didn’t know that you existed. I don’t care about money.”

Cameron paused. “You aren’t my mother.”

Andrea shook her head. Her spoon settled in the untouched cereal.

“Where...where is she?”

“I didn’t ask. My priorities didn’t extend beyond her body.”

“What are you then?”

“That answer is so far beyond your reach I won’t even try to explain it.”

“Are you alien?”

“No, not at all. Think spiritual,” Andrea helped.

“An angel?”

“Wrong, but a little closer. I herd souls to the afterlife. I’m a guide.”

Cameron reached for her knife again. “Am I going to die?”

Andrea caught the movement then the intention in the girl’s eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you. That’s not what I do,” her hand covered the girl’s. 

“I don’t want to die.”

“It will happen, but not right now,” Andrea promised.

The grip on the knife tightened until the finger flexed and the metal crashed to the plate again.

Cameron blinked. “Oh.”Her fingers unfurl from fists. She placed her hands in her lap. Her heart isn’t racing even though part of her thinks it should be. She should be afraid as she had been several seconds ago. She felt warm, safe, and light. “What did you do?”

“You can’t kill me. You can harm this body and I won’t be able to heal it. I’d rather not go through the trouble of finding another and starting all over with Miranda. She’s fond of this body.”

“My mother’s body.”

“She’s into brunettes, always has been.” Andrea put her face in her hands. “Because of what I am, I can’t stay in a body for long. Most of my kind don’t take the risk, it’s too dangerous.”

Cameron swallowed. “Why are you telling me? I’m just a kid.”

“It’s because I’m so close. I don’t even know if this is real. I guess this is me talking it out and...I don’t know. You are a kid, but you’re here.” Andrea stole her bacon.

“What are you so close, too?”

“Miranda. After so long...it’s been too long,” Andrea smiled to herself. “I lost her thirty years ago. Thirty years realistically doesn’t feel long for someone who isn’t limited to the same rules of time. But thirty years dividing two lovers feels like an eternity.”

“You...and….her? You and Miranda Priestly the icon.”

“Yea, for two wonderful centuries. She wasn’t an icon when I knew her...when she knew herself. She was more.”

“She’s going to die, isn’t she?”

A toothy smile greeted the apprehensive question. “Yea, finally.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm having fun. I don't know if you can tell. I hope you're having fun as well.


	10. Chapter 10

How could death make her feel so alive? The thought itself had wheels and Miranda’s mind was a small little cul de sac where it rolled around. She didn’t have an answer. She had bruises, sore muscles, and an appetite for more. She looked at her phone for the twentieth time since she left the hotel that morning. Andrea hadn’t called or texted.

She consciously faced her phone down and tried to concentrate on the presentation before her. Nigel was to her right. Emily stood at the entrance on the phone. The brick loft was quaint and full of glass and white surfaces. It occurred to her that she hadn’t asked what heaven looked like. She hadn’t asked about the afterlife. What did it look like? Would she even be going there? 

She closed her hands around her phone causing her knuckles to go white. She wanted to push thoughts of her psychopomp far away and focus. She’d gotten through the worst of her marriages by succumbing to the work. Miranda stood. Words she hadn’t been paying attention to trailed off into stuttering then silence. She reached the table where the designer must have spent hours hunched over it. The dresses were draped on mannequins and Nigel began speaking with the designer while Miranda thumbed through the sketches.

Emily said her name was Carla. A young thirtysomething who lived alone in dedication to her craft. The woman had talent. She was a bit mousy, too skittish for the industry. Miranda’s world didn’t do well with people who wore their vulnerability so openly. Her drawings were bold and bold women would wear a dress with such a deep neckline. Andrea would look delicious wearing it.

Her phone rang. She calmed her breathing. She took her time looking at the screen. She didn’t recognize the number. Miranda’s vision blurred, losing the detail she delighted in earlier reviewing Carla’s sketches.

“Hello?”

“I wasn’t pleased to wake up alone this morning.”

“You sleep like a rock.”

“You run like you’re afraid.”

“Did you call for something?”

“I want to see you.”

“You’ve never needed my permission to show up uninvited and unannounced.”

“Good times.”

“You’ve called for no reason, then.”

“I’m not in the mood to scale your walls,” Miranda heard the smile in Andrea’s voice when she answered the psychopomp with silence.

“I’m busy,” she said. 

Miranda barely realized what she was doing before she hung the phone. Her nerves were overwhelmed. The call she’d been waiting for all morning and afternoon had come. The part of her that anticipated was usurped by a stronger part that wanted to protect her. She had given up so much the night before. Andrea made her tremble. She quivered underneath her touch, the warning in her words, and the intent telegraphed in pushing Miranda’s thighs open.

She could feel the persuasive fingers now. She remembered the burning underneath her skin. The pleasant trail of warmth in her veins. Warmth, that seemed to shoot to her center. Nothing had made her feel so full. None of her husbands or her lovers or Runway. Her body responded to her soreness. Pleasant, tangible soreness that made her crave a phone call.  
Her stomach knotted. Her center throbbed. Thankfully she avoided biting her lip. She couldn’t lose control during a viewing. Nigel had been diligently watching her. She was noticeably distracted, for good reason. He walked over and Miranda raised her nose a little higher showing more confidence than she felt as she ignored the next phone call. 

Nigel’s gaze dropped to the phone. “It’s not the worst showing we’ve been to.”

Miranda nodded. “She’s...adequate.”

“She’ll be pleased to hear it,” he commented. “You’ve been daydreaming again. You know you incite my obsessive curiosity with all this secrecy.”

Miranda sighed and answered the phone. She ignored a smirking Nigel as she headed for the entrance to the stairs. “What?”

Andrea released a heavy breath. “Would you like to try that again?”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“Your voice is trembling.”

“Horrible reception.”

Andrea laughed in her ear. “I mistook you for a quick learner.”

“I wasn’t aware there was a lesson to learn.”

“I thought that I’d been clear about our discussion on respect. Obviously, I wasn’t clear enough. Have you ever been draped over someone’s knee?”

Miranda stopped on the last tile in front of the apartment building’s exit.

Andrea continued. “Have you upset someone so much they pulled up your skirt, pushed your panties to the side, and spanked you.”

Miranda swallowed. 

“No, I don’t think anyone has. You would never trust someone to see you like that. I can see it...you’re spread open, dripping with need, begging to be stripped to nothing with a tongue and two fingers. I can give that to you and more, if you let me.”

Miranda took that final step and pushed the door open. It was after midday. The people were moving around and cars were on the streets and life should have been loud. Except, someone had pressed the mute button. Nothing registered for Miranda as the images of her backside raised as high as it could to reach Andrea halfway infiltrated her thoughts. The implications of it marinated until she fell into her backseat, legs like jello. 

Roy closed the car door for her. 

“I don’t beg,” said Miranda finally.

“Selective memory does not look good on you.”

Andrea's teasing tone irritated her. 

“Was last night even real?”

“If I close my eyes I can map out every bruise from memory.” Andrea paused before she began speaking deliberately. “I got carried away on your breasts. They must still be sore.”

They were.

“And when your juices dripped onto your thighs...I think I bit you.”

Miranda released a sound from the back of her through unwittingly. She’d been mesmerized by the mark before she had to cover it up.

“You’re the same woman who thanked me on your knees and between my legs,” said Andrea. “And let me tell you Miranda, you’ve never looked more than beautiful when you’re eager to please.”

Andrea shared an address. It took Miranda a moment before she realized, by then Andrea hung up the phone. That was Miranda’s move. No one treated her like that. No one threatened her like that. No one from this world or another. She ordered Roy back to Runway. There she could pretend she didn’t carry a need that wanted her to speed to the address Andrea had given her.


	11. Chapter 11

Andrea saw the blocks falling into place. It was a satisfying game of Tetris if she ever saw one and the only block that didn’t seem to fit was the child still occupying the hotel with her. The one that had become her accidental companion, if that’s what she could be called. 

“You could have kept it PG-13 for my virgin ears,” Cameron glared at a smirking Andrea from the balcony.

She pocketed the phone and tilted her head to the young girl. Cameron continued to stare at the city with a vague expression now that her disgust had dissolved. It had been a good hour before she shared her and Miranda’s story. She’d taken it as well as to be expected, perhaps better. Children were quite resilient that way.

“If anything you should be taking notes,” Andrea delivered.

This earned another glare. “When you get what you want...what happens next?”

“A lot of x-rated things.”

“How do you know she’ll still want you?”

“She wants me,” Andrea said quickly, thinking the question absurd. Images of a kneeling Miranda were burned into her memory. It made her stomach flip, her heart skip, and her fingers twitch for more. “You were asleep for most of it, but I can tell you in detail how much she wants me.”

“Are you saying that because she had sex with you? Sex is empty. It means only one thing to one person at the time. Maybe it meant more to you than her.”

Andrea’s smirk doesn’t fall, she won’t let it, not when Cameron’s studying her expression so intently. She wanted to see the impact of her seeds of doubt.

“You don’t have many friends. Must be hard to have a big shiny place like this and no one to show it off to. Do they have an app for that?”

“What?”

“To make friends? Of course, you’d have to shelve the whole manipulative vibe you’ve got going on.”

“I don’t need friends.”

“Who’s going to go to your funeral?”

“I don’t care. I’ll be dead and you’ll still be pathetic.”

It crossed Andrea’s mind to threaten her. Nothing severe, just enough for the girl to understand the consequences of her words.

Cameron huffed. “My mom...she’s gone. You’ll be gone. I’ll have no one left. Nothing.”

The hardness in her eyes had softened. It made sense to find her standing on the balcony. She had a great view of the city. She could look down on all of them and pretend she was in control, when her circumstance made her feel the opposite. It was true, she would have nothing. Andrea didn’t have to search her feelings about the topic. Ultimately, Cameron was a sad casualty. 

“What about that woman from the park? She seemed concerned about you.”

“She looks after me, yeah.” Cameron deflated, “We aren’t related by blood.”

Andrea held herself up with the door frame half listening when she thought of the villa, the view, the gracious breeze that would cool her and Miranda’s sweat soaked bodies.

“Do you know what happens to kids with no parents?”

“They get new parents,” Andrea said dumbly. “It’s not a process I researched in depth. The balance of this relationship has always been one sided, Cameron. It isn’t that I don’t care that I’m wearing your mother’s body. It isn’t that I don’t care where you end up at all. It comes down to: I care more about something that I have spent a very long time longing for.”

“You’re an asshole.”

“I’m death, it comes with the territory.”

Cameron turned her back to the view of the city. Her eyes were clear and brimming with intensity. “I’m going to sell pictures of my prepubescent body to fifty year old men for lunch money. That’s what’s going to happen.”

“To be clear...you’re trying to appeal to my guilty conscience? I really expected more from you for the stunt you pulled to get Miranda to the hotel, but this...it’s sad.”

Cameron smirked.

Andrea grimaced distrustfully.

The younger girl continued. “Miranda’s dying. All the cards on the table and she’s looking at me like I’m her second chance at something she’s never had with her girls. Instead of trying to play fifty shades of grey with her why not use me. I have value.”

To someone else, maybe. Their agenda’s weren’t aligned and Andrea had a good feeling about Miranda’s need for her. She’d be back. She’d come willingly which prompted her to answer Cameron with,“I don’t need you.”

Cameron snorts at her comment. Andrea’s boredom was palpable and Cameron assumed the same could be said for her irritation. She hadn’t asked to be the daughter of one of the most unreliable women to ever open her legs to a stranger. She hadn’t asked for the gift to read people and assume personalities that would appeal to them. She hadn’t asked to be taught to deceive everyone. 

Her mother had been adamant about the foundation of her belief system. Santa Claus didn’t exist and the Easter Bunny was a joke. While love was a year round marketing scheme to capitalize on holidays like Valentines and Christmas. She watched her mother lure in men and women in different schemes. She made promises she didn’t keep. She lied to their faces and they kept letting her. Her mother told her, they liked it.

“I sent her to an address not far from here. She should be there soon.” Andrea’s voice came from somewhere else, another room. 

To continue the conversation Cameron was forced to go back inside. Andrea still had her shoes off as if she wasn’t leaving any time soon. “You’re going to make her wait?”

“It’s part of my diabolical plan.”

Cameron rolled her eyes. “To play games?”

“To give her what she wants.”

“That sounds really unselfish,” Cameron observed as she grabbed the room keys. 

*

Miranda didn’t enjoy surprises. There were too many assumptions that weaved in and around that process. All or most of a surprise was a huge risk for both parties involved unless somebody knew her. And if they knew Miranda at all they would know it was foolish to entertain something like a surprise.

Andrea had been distinctly ambiguous about the address. Although, the intent in her voice had left much to imagine as to her motivation. Andrea wanted to dominate her. She had seen her needy and begging. She had too much pride to be seen in that light by just anyone, so it might as well be her psychopomp. She would have laughed to herself if she wanted to garner more concerned looks from Nigel. 

She tapped her nail on her phone. Her mind on Andrea and the promise hidden underneath the smugness of their last conversation. She shifted in her chair as she was briefed about a weekend photo shoot. The costs, the clothes, the models, and the location were all typed up in a neat little black binder. It reminded Miranda of the cleanliness of order and the rightness of following through. She thought about her own death and how suddenly she’d been too preoccupied to figure out the details. She made an appointment with her lawyers to review her will at the end of the week. Nothing would have changed, still, it made her feel better to know what was in black and white.

She hadn’t saved Andrea’s number. She did know the last four digits by heart and her sense grew excited despite herself. She gestured for Nigel to take over. Miranda walked to her window and turned her back on the meeting. Her fingers hovered over the button to answer the call when Emily barreled inside. She barely stopped herself before she collided with Miranda.

The redhead stopped at her shoulder and whispered in her ear. Miranda didn’t move. The words settled in her brain and even the extra minutes still didn’t help her process Emily’s ravings. The police had one of her daughter’s in custody. She ignored Andrea’s call and scrolled through her contacts to call her girls. 

In minutes, she spoke to both of them. True to their pattern when they spent their summer with their father, they rushed her off the phone. Miranda’s first instincts to worry had been automatically activated. Now, her curiosity took over. She took the number of the desk Sergeant who called to inform her of her daughter’s arrest. Five minutes after speaking with a mall cop on the brink of calling the real authorities Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose.  
She caught the tail end of the meeting and waved Nigel away. Thinking about Runway was becoming as difficult as staying as being impartial with Cameron.

She considered all the emotions she would have felt before her diagnosis. Indifference would have come first. Then after all thoughts of the call would have been replaced by a meeting, a dinner, a line, and anything else that she deemed above the emotional turmoil of a stranger. Sending her lawyer wasn’t an indifferent move. Having the same lawyer babysit Cameron until Miranda’s car arrived to pick up the girl showed more investment than she cared to admit.

Miranda skimmed through her phone. Scrolling through news feeds and ignoring Andrea’s texts.

“You came,” Cameron spoke first.

“I was quite concerned when my assistant informed me that one of my daughter’s was arrested. No parent wants to ever receive that call especially since my girls should be out of the country.”

“I memorized your number. You were the first person I thought of.”

“You were scraping the bottom of the barrel.”

“Andy wouldn’t care. Lily...she’d only give me ‘the look’ and a lecture over leftovers or something microwaveable.”

“You decided you wanted a lecture from someone with more refined tastes.”

“I was hoping we’d skip the lecture and go straight to dinner. But if that’s the price for admission I can live with it.” Cameron shrank under Miranda’s raised eyebrow. “I take what I need to survive.”

“You were caught with lip gloss and perfume,” Miranda said having been briefed by a very perturbed lawyer. “When does that qualify as things that you need to survive?”

“You don’t remember what it’s like to be my age?” Cameron asked.

Miranda didn’t answer immediately, choosing to look out the window and ignore the question. Cameron assumed she probably did remember her counterfeit memories from the body she’d stolen. The same would happen to Andy if she stayed in her mother’s body long enough.


	12. Chapter 12

Andrea glared at the narrow door. Her phone was clenched in her hand after another call had been ignored by Miranda. Truthfully, she expected Miranda to be fashionably late, if only to make a point. She’d spent most of her human life on the comfortable side of power. Of course, it would take her time to fully accept that there was someone she wanted to give it up for. She was most likely confused, scared, and deep down excited by the prospect. The newness of it still didn’t account for the fact that she never showed up.

Andrea didn’t care for working this much in general. It bothered her that she had to come here at all, especially since she’d given Miranda a civil invitation. Perhaps she’d been vague. No, she corrected herself, Andrea adjusted her jacket as she climbed the steps to the townhome.

Miranda answered the door right after when her hands were becoming sore from knocking. It was thrown open just as Andrea’s hand was coming down to it again. She brought her hand to her pocket and pushed her way inside. Without breaking eye contact with the mogul she closed the door with her fingers and used her other hand to wrap around a dainty waist.

“You kept me waiting.”

“I…”

Andrea lifted her hand to the back of Miranda’s neck. She massaged the skin as she shook her head to stop her excuse.

“You kept me waiting,” Andrea repeated swaying their bodies as her voice turned hypnotic. “I don’t need to tell you how disappointing that is. I was convinced you wanted to explore this connection between us. If not, I thought you’d at least be an adult and let me down gently.”

“I called,” Miranda whispered, not recognizing her own voice.

“You didn’t,” Andrea said through clenched teeth.

Miranda stood a little straighter stepping back. “I did.”

Andrea breathed before emotions escalated. She still had the taste of Miranda on her lips from the other night. It was hard to think clearly. “I didn’t come to fight.”

“Is this business or pleasure?”

“I like to blur the two.”

“I can’t be the only woman in the city planning her suicide.”

“You are not.”

“Then play with them. I only require you after the fact. Whatever is this,” Miranda waved her hand around disdainfully, “I don’t need it. Especially if it means that I have to clean up your mess.”

“My mess? What are you…”

“Cameron.”

“What about the brat?”

“She was almost arrested for shoplifting.”

“What do you care about orphan Annie getting her hands dirty?”

“She gave the mall cop my name.”

This kid was becoming a pain. Her eyes closed long enough for her to count backwards from five. “Where is she?”

“Upstairs, sleeping.”

“You bought her a hotel room.”

“She doesn’t want to be anywhere near you. It’s too painful. I don’t blame the girl. All of this is very confusing for me and I didn’t even know her mother.” Miranda crossed her arms. “I don’t even know you. Is this how it works with you? You prey on people at their most vulnerable so you can take what you want.”

“It’s never bothered them before.”

“Shouldn’t you be better than that?” Miranda grimaced.

“You mind if we take this in the kitchen,” Andrea said already heading there. She was confident the other woman would catch up. She ducked her head in the refrigerator first. She grabbed a tupperware with a green top and pulled it back. The contents smelled cold and delicious.

She placed it on the counter, preheated the oven, then went searching for more leftovers. When she stood up again she turned around with a bottle of water in her hand. In the process of twisting it off she admired Miranda. The woman stood by the door. Her arms were crossed and her legs were spread and firmly planted as if there was a point she was going to make.

“Oh, right,” Andrea started as an afterthought. “We were on the discussion of my morality.”

“I suppose we should talk about the other night.”

Andrea swallowed and returned the top to the water bottle. “Why?”

“I’ve never...I don’t know why I thought sleeping with you was going to be a good idea. I don’t know you. I don’t trust you.”

“Did I hurt you?”

Silence.

Andrea continued. “Have I ever lied to you?”

“I don’t know.”

Andrea gave her a thoughtful expression, “I think I have, but it wasn’t important.”

“My credit card is in my purse. I hope you enjoy my leftovers. I am going to bed.” Miranda sighed before she turned on her heel. She didn’t get beyond the threshold when Andrea pulled her in by the waist.

“Wait.”

“I’m exhausted,” Miranda whispered. “So exhausted.”

“Wait,” Andrea hummed into the shorter woman’s ear. “Not yet.”

“I’m not hungry and I’m not the biggest fan of your company.”

“I’ll be good.”

Miranda chuckled humorlessly. “I don’t think you even know what that means.” She pushed Andrea’s hands from her waist. Turning towards her continued calmly, “Cameron is without a mother. Do you feel anything? Can you feel anything?"

"I feel a lot of frustration," she hissed pushing her hands into her pocket.

Miranda eyed the move. “You said you’d be good.”

“I am, you aren't bent over that counter and begging me for release."

"Of course, I couldn't have a psychopomp, with a whisper of empathy." Miranda turned to leave. Andrea caught her arm plastering on the widest smile that failed to appease the shorter woman who pulled away again. She wouldn’t be stopped this time.


	13. Chapter 13

Miranda didn’t understand why she was so upset. She could blame it on old age. She could blame it on Andrea being very good at plucking her nerves with methodic prowess. Whatever the reason it most likely wouldn’t be figured out tonight or worked through if they gave into their primal urges.

She almost covered her face with her hands, but she stopped herself and glared at a pen on her desk. The tectonic plates of her ordered life had shifted. Her gracefulness faltered and her emotions were closer to the surface than they’d been in years. All of her instincts advised her to fight the change. This change, whatever it was, would lead to ruin. She was already careening towards the last couple of pages of her life’s work. 

She’d begun making the arrangements of wrapping everything up in a neat bow. No one is truly prepared to lose a parent especially not one with such a large overhanging shadow. The girls would mourn and most likely hate her first. Their father, however ineffective he was as a husband, was a decent father. Barring a few questionable habits that lead to questionable life choices he could elevate himself to a great father. Comforting two girls after this it could go one of two ways. 

She reached for her pen and retrieved stationary from a maroon box next to it. She licked her lips and watched words form from the nascent hope that her ex husband could surpass himself. He would have to be everything for the girls and she said as much. She was careful to point out his best characteristics that would help him get there.

She filled three pages by the time she was done. Her eyes were wet. Thankfully no tears escaped and stained the paper. She wouldn’t give him nor the girls reason to think for one moment she had a weak resolve.

And as if Andrea was reading her mind she said, “You always have to be the strong one.”

“I’d like to do something for that girl.”

Andrea stopped herself from rolling her eyes. If Miranda needed a pet project to distract herself for a time, Andrea could do that for her. She kept her mouth shut and listened. Miranda spoke about a college fund. She spoke of calling friends in the judiciary system to look after the girl. She spoke quietly and slowly as if she were just forming the idea in her head. It was then Andrea realized that it didn’t matter if she was sitting there or not. Miranda still would have been working this out either in her head or aloud.

Miranda didn’t look up as she secured her letter in an envelope. She put it in her right top drawer with similar envelopes to her daughters and one with Nigel Kipling scrawled on it.

“It must be exhausting.”

“I’m putting my life in order, of course it’s exhausting.”

“Take a break.”

“I’ll rest when I’m dead. There is much to do and… There are tasks that only I can.”

Andrea smirked. Her hands were tucked in her trousers pockets as she stepped to the ceiling high bookcase. So many thoughts recorded in pictures and ink. She didn’t doubt Miranda had spent a lifetime curating her collection of novels, anthologies, and magazines. She’d probably read through each one at least twice or more. 

“You shouldn’t think of me as your enemy.”

“We’re allies?” Miranda countered disbelievingly. She couldn’t bring herself to say friends.

“I know it’s an occupational hazard to live by titles. We don’t need that.”

“That’s very magnanimous of you.”

Andrea shrugged off Miranda's sarcasm like a duck in water. Then she grew serious, “I am magnanimous.” After a pause her grin returned, the one Miranda hated. “That’s besides the point. I can be anything you need to be.”

“Can you be serious?”

Andrea thought carefully before she answered with a small nod. “If you really want to delve into the meaning of life and the wonders of the afterlife we can.”

“I don’t.”

“Good.”

“But...it wouldn’t hurt if you were more professional about all this.”

“I warned you about my bedside manner in my disclaimer.”

“You said you could be anything I wanted,” Miranda sat back in her chair.

It was easy to imagine this version of Miranda as someone that made her subordinates shiver and her enemies apprehensive. Andrea would never be either and her reaction to this demanding Miranda turned her on and pissed her off at the same time. Despite being human there was still a lot of Miranda to be enamored by, hence her arousal. While anger began and ended because of their circumstance. 

“Did I?”

Andrea grappled with the unfairness of being looked upon as stranger to the woman she loved. It never got old, no matter how many bodies she used. It was all psychological as it was unfair and for the longest time impatience and crazy competed for her undivided attention. The woman wanted her professionalism. She wanted Andrea to feel nothing. 

“You did.”

Andrea sat on the sofa facing her. Hands clasped while her forearms rested on her knees. She wouldn’t pray. Human’s prayed to absolve themselves of guilt as much as to solve their sometimes impossible problems. Andrea knew better than that. She wouldn’t stoop to prayer. But she would have to admit her behavior to this point only seemed to push Miranda further away from her. All she wanted was to be close. She needed it. She wouldn’t let Miranda deal with this alone.

“I’m not going to argue about what either of us thinks we remember,” Andrea said as a compromise.

“Then we can agree then.”

“I said we wouldn’t argue.”

“I need to know that you can behave. I can do what I need to do with you and your white noise in the background, but I’d rather we have something more practical.”

“You want me here?”

“As I see it, the nature of your job requires you to be here. It has nothing to do with want. Considering that fact I’d rather be very clear about the technicalities of this arrangement.”

Andrea stopped herself from mocking Miranda’s inherent nature for control. Instead, she listened. If it were any other person she’d stop them before they gained any kind of confidence or momentum. If it were anyone else besides Miranda, she sighed. Technicalities? Arrangement? She was breaking this down into terms she could understand. Even Andrea understood that.

Miranda stood to walk around the desk. She stopped in front of Andrea and leaned against the desk. “I can give you what you want. All of this needs to be mutually beneficial. If we can come to an understanding of a reasonable relationship of give and take I don’t see how...I know we can find a middle ground. You want me.”

Andrea didn’t even hide the interest in her statement. She did sit back leaving her hands clasped.

“I’ve never tolerated less than I deserved. All the good things in my life came from adhering to that principle. Even if that hasn’t saved me from...I won’t burden anyone with this. I can imagine it would be a difficult conversation to hear coming from me. It wouldn’t be an easy thing to accept, the diagnosis and my response to it. Everything reminds me of how close I am to the end.” Miranda sucks in a breath as if what she’s about to say next is painful. “The one time where I was free...where my mind was free. I was on my knees. Strange don’t you think?”

Andrea tilted her head.

“I thought about your offer. My inner feminist wasn’t impressed by your assumption that I would leap at the chance to spread my legs if you called. I will also admit that I’m intrigued by you but even that can be replaced with irritation depending on what you’ve said or done. I can be honest when I say I don’t want to be alone, or sober, or pragmatic about this every second of the day.”

Andrea smiled inwardly. She could work with this. “A few minutes ago you were asking me to be professional?”

“Do you really want to spend your time dissecting the inconsistencies of what I want?”

Andrea sniffed. She released her hands and spread them over the back of the sofa. “You make a very good point. I don’t care. Not about that.”

Miranda put away her glasses. Andrea watched the move and inhaled sharply. 

“Come here,” Andrea commanded. Her eyes are darker, her breathing is heavier, and her voice is heavy with need. 

Miranda didn’t want to hang onto her dignity, pride, or self control. In the day it was harder to let go. Here in the dark it wasn’t so difficult to give in. The dark reminded her of death, it always did unless she had shiny things, a loud room, or her book to distract her. She needed a distraction. She needed her mind to settle down or she’d do something unforgivable like drink and cry her last days. She’d never get anything done like that. So, she obeyed Andrea. She stood above her. Even if she was looking down she knew that she didn’t have control and it was fine because she didn’t want it.

As she admitted that she wanted to relinquish her power. It was hard to just stand there. Andrea looked her over just as Miranda had done to so many other models before her. It’s not what she expected. It’s not what she wanted. Her impatience got the better of her as she opened her mouth to get the ball rolling, so to speak.

“Don’t,” Andrea warned.

Miranda’s mouth closed.

“I’m still trying to decide.”

Miranda glared.

Andrea smirked. She nodded towards the coffee table. “Take off everything below the waist and sit.”

Hesitation preceded action, the brunette noticed it without comment. If Miranda was serious then she’d show them in the next few minutes. For now she didn’t disappoint as she discarded her underwear and sat on the cool table after shifting a book called Flowers for Algernon.

“No,” Andrea leaned forward and stopped Miranda from closing her legs. “I want them open. I want to see.”

“Okay,” Miranda said quietly.

Andrea tucked her hands underneath her chin. She watched expectantly as Miranda used one of the hands she was holding herself up with to trace her outer lips. Her fingers slid inside rubbing her clit down to her opening. With each pass the path became slicker. Her legs twitched from the contact and it was harder to keep her eyes open. She sucked in her bottom lip and her arm shook as she had to concentrate on keeping herself up.

These were the details that sucked Andrea in. This was what she wanted to watch and enjoy. The sounds Miranda made, her whimpers, were a bonus.

“Fuuuuck,” she hissed.

Andrea took off her jacket. It was getting hot.

“Nnnmmm,” Miranda rocked back and forth.

“Go inside,” Andrea commanded.

She obeyed sinking one finger inside her. Her pussy swallowed the second digit as well. She kept a slow gentle pace that irritated Andrea who told her to speed up. Juices spilled from her opening as Miranda obeyed.

“Shiii….fuuuu,” she rolled her shoulders forward and spread her legs even wider.

Andrea lifts her chin and plays with the bruised lower lip Miranda’s teeth released. “Look at me.”

Eyes that are normally cool and calculated are fogged over with desire. Andrea smiles at the transformation and she swallows her desire to destroy Miranda’s pussy too soon. The hand on her chin lowers to the nipple straining against her bra. Miranda shivers from the touch even while wearing her blouse.

“Does your pussy feel good?”

Miranda sucks in her lower lip again nodding and whimpering.

“Use your words.”

“Yes,” she moans.

“Pull out.”

Miranda’s fingers continue to pump as her eyes shut and shakes her head. “Too close...I’m close.”

“Pull. Out. Miranda.”

“No,” she answers with a moan that sounds almost animalistic.

Andrea sighed deeply and her expression hardened but she didn't make a move to stop her. She was close. Sweat collected on her upper lip and her whole body shook as it betrayed just how close to an orgasm she was.

“Mmmmnnnn, just a...just….jus.”

“Stop or I’ll stop you.”

Miranda blinked and considered this new information carefully. Her fingers slowed as Andrea’s words gave her pause. Finally, her finger slid out and before she could decide what to do with her hand Andrea gave her one option.

“Feed me.”

Miranda held up the glistening fingers to her mouth. Andrea’s tongue came out first. Then she sucked the two fingers moaning at the salty taste.

“I wanted to finish,” Miranda said as the other woman still had her fingers hostage. “Let me finish,” she pleaded.

“You're mine,” she said when she released her fingers. “This,” she put her hand on Miranda’s clit, “Is mine.”

After she gasped from her touch she leaned back and opened herself up eager for Andrea to resume where she left off. She had a pool underneath her. She was probably ruining the table. She didn’t care. This was exactly the feeling she craved. This was what she needed.

“You’re a needy bitch,” Andrea hummed. "Aren't you?"

Miranda nodded. “I need you.”


	14. Chapter 14

Miranda’s comfort wasn’t Andrea’s top concern. If she disliked the position she was welcome to beg for something more vanilla. Maybe she would have considered it but again, she wasn’t too concerned about Miranda’s comfort. Andrea maintained her position on the couch when she guided Miranda on her knees on the same table. Miranda grabbed the ends and held on for dear life even though Andrea hadn’t touched her yet.

“Why are you so fucking wet?”

“Y...your fault,” Miranda struggled to string her words together.

“Is it?” Her hands grabbed and pulled the ass cheeks apart until her thumbs ran along Miranda’s weeping pussy. A head bob was her only response.

“Do something about it,” she dared.

Andrea wasn’t amused by Miranda and illustrated it with a smack to her backside.

“Mnnnmmm.” Her head sank lower to the table. Her knuckles went white as her legs began shaking. Her attention was divided between Andrea’s hand and the desire to spread her legs wider. Neither were doing exactly what she wanted.

Andrea stands using her right hand to massage, smack, and tease Miranda’s backside. She takes her time to her ultimate goal. As she goes lower the pitch changes in her lover's moans and as soon as she sinks her middle finger inside a fuller sound fills the room. She moves her fingers in to the knuckle then backs out and continues with this pattern until she takes her fingers out entirely. She puts her thumb and uses her index finger and her middle finger to massage a needy clit.

“Yea...yes..sss.”

She could get drunk on the feeling of standing over Miranda so willing to submit.

“You’re too quiet. You must not like it,” Andrea withdrew and if Miranda had the strength to turn she would have seen her Machiavellian grin.

“Stop teasing,” growled Miranda letting her frustration leak.

Andrea grabbed her backside. Her action is followed by a whimper and the brunette thinks it’s about time to set Miranda straight. “The name of the game is ‘Do What I Say’. I’m not really interested in anything that comes out of your mouth if it’s not more, harder, faster, fuck, or a phrase that praises my unmitigated authority over your pussy. Understand?”

Miranda was startled and unwilling to answer immediately. Too many words in her current state meant she needed time. After a breath she complied with a combination of a moan and a nod.

“This is where that phrase of praise might help you out right now.”

“I...I need you….um…” Miranda’s following attempts were just as incoherent.

Andrea chuckled. “You can do better than that.”

Miranda really could. If only an all encompassing need to cum hadn’t taken her ability to speak hostage.

“You can do it,” Andrea said.  
“Fuck….I need you to fuck me you pussy genius.” 

Miranda was humping the air at this point. And her juices were dripping on the table. Andrea reached down and caught a drop on her finger. 

“Good girl,” Andrea praised her and sank two eager digits inside Miranda. Miranda pushed back into the fingers matching her lover’s rhythm.

*

“Fuck,” Miranda moaned when Andrea came up for air.

She slowly relaxed her fingers and saved her couch from being ruined even though her juices had most likely done that. She shut her eyes as her pussy jumped. Her legs twitched and they would be sore from the abuse when they were unceremoniously pushed apart. At the time she wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

“Fuck.”

“You said that,” Andrea said, running her nails over flesh close to her pussy. 

Miranda blinked.

Andrea watched her open and close her mouth. The brunette frowned before it blossomed into a one hundred watt smile. Good girl. “The game is over now. Feel free to speak your mind.” 

“You’re a bastard,” Miranda said from the couch. One leg was thrown over the back of the couch and the other was draped over Andrea’s leg. Her eyes were closed and her chest was rising up and down as she caught her breath from her fourth orgasm.

“I retain the title of pussy genius.”

“Not my finest moment,” the mogul threw her arm over her eyes.

“I won’t hold it against you. Next time I suspect you’ll come up with something that befits your prose and my prowess.”

“I can’t feel my legs.”

Andrea smiled at the swollen vagina. She considered running her finger gently over it. Miranda had tried running away from her, which resulted in their predicament on the couch. Andrea had already made up her mind she would ruin her lover’s ability to walk. She hoped Miranda would feel so self conscious she’d forfeit a day at the office and tell her lawyers to meet her room.

Miranda’s body shook as she chuckled. “I can’t move.”

“That’s always a good sign of a thorough fucking.”

“Yes, you were thorough,” Miranda finally moved her hand away from her eyes.

She’s beautiful, Andrea thinks. She knows she should look away. She knows that if she doesn’t break free from this trance she might give herself away. That’s not fair. It was a phrase no one could escape in her line of work. Miranda hadn’t said it out loud, but her frustration was palpable. She spent a lifetime of people telling her what she could and couldn’t do. Fortunately, she had the fortitude to commit and prove them all wrong.

That was the essence of the woman she loved. She was relentless, misunderstood, coveted, and magnificent.

“Help,” Miranda said. 

Andrea obliged the woman nodding to her leg and moved it slowly from the back of the couch. Miranda hissed when she was able to close her legs again and the sound almost sent the brunette pouncing on her again.

Andrea looked at the wrinkled blouse they never got around to taking off. She made a note to make sure that it was discarded next time.

“Are you...can you make it up the stairs?”

Miranda nodded. Andrea who was less than convinced watched her struggle to stand. She ended up on her backside in her first attempt.

“I can carry you.”

“I’d rather you didn’t.”

Andrea chose not to let the rejection of her help irritate her. Instead she grabbed Miranda and threw her over her shoulder.

“Wha....”

There was a good chance Miranda’s moans had already woken Cameron. She couldn’t be bothered to feel guilty. She did make sure that she moved as quickly and as carefully to Miranda’s room so she wouldn’t get a show.

Miranda bounced when she ended up on the bed. She glared up at the woman whose eyes scanned the room with interest. When her gaze returned to Miranda she put her hands on her hips expectantly.

“Say thank you.”

“This whole controlling thing can stay in the bedroom,” Miranda said, tucking her feet underneath her very aware that she’s only half dressed.

“Yea. Look around.”

“Is the game not over?”

“It occurs to me that the inability to use your legs does not directly affect your ability to put your mouth to use.”

Miranda’s eyes were immediately trained to Andrea’s pants. The woman remained clothed the entire time. She inched to her knees as Andrea drew to the beginning of the bed. 

“Take off my pants. Pull down my underwear. And I don’t want you to come up for air until you know how to say, ‘thank you’.”


	15. Chapter 15

Cameron walked the length of a stranger’s room. Miranda said it belonged to a girl named Cassidy. That Cassidy girl didn’t want for anything. She wasn’t in danger of missing a meal or a good night’s sleep. She lived in a brick and mortar castle with a mother who could afford any and everything her little girl desired. Despite the coziness of the room and the warmth of the bed it was hard to sleep. 

She had conned her way into Miranda’s home. It wasn’t her best work but it got her through the door and in a bed. Miranda wanted to be angry with Andrea. Ultimately that made Cameron’s lie easy to sell. Her mother taught start the lie with the truth.

Cameron left the room in a borrowed plush robe and matching slippers. The kitchen was filled with natural light and her stomach growled at the prospect of breakfast. Many mornings without a mother to make breakfast caused her to be very independent in that regard.

“Smells delicious,” Andrea said as she walked in fifteen minutes later. She grabbed the container of orange juice and poured it in the glass Cameron claimed for herself.

“That’s mine,” she glared as the scrambled eggs and bacon. 

Andrea hummed her response as she nodded and swallowed. “Don’t be like that. We share so much as it is. I think you have my eyes.”

“I have my mother’s eyes,” Cameron sneered at her wrinkled suit missing the jacket and a hint of dignity. “You spent the night?”

“You didn’t hear us?”

“I was in a blissful coma, thankfully,” she said as she retrieved a new glass.

“You’d have to be in a coma or dead if you didn’t hear us last night.”

“I don’t need the details,” Cameron said and deposited the tip of her bacon in her mouth.

“That childish thing you have going on isn’t a good look for you.”

“You’re one to talk.” Andrea put down her glass. “Miranda has an appointment with her lawyers today. She wants to review her will and we’re going to the funeral home to pick out the casket she wants.”

“That’s a morbid date.”

“It’s not a date. I’m there for moral support.”

Small eyes brows hiked. “Do you even know what that means?”

“I have a general idea.”

“It’ll probably work out better if you keep your mouth shut,” the girl suggested. “Play that strong and silent card.”

“You sound almost concerned I might hurt her feelings or make it awkward.”

“You’re going to be her arm candy at a funeral home. It’s a given that it’s going to be awkward. And my line of work doesn’t mean that I don’t have a conscience. I want her money. I don’t want her dead. You said she’s going to review her will?”

Andrea eyed the young girl. Her eyes were bright with ambition. She was hungry. That look would take turns helping and hurting her throughout her lifetime. She decided to ignore the question and steal a piece.

“Make your own breakfast.”

“I don’t know how to cook,” she shrugged.

“You’ve been at this body snatchers thing for a long time. You never learned?”

“I cater to a specific clientele so I don’t have to. They usually have a chef on staff.”

Cameron returned her focus to her food.

“Don’t get comfortable,” Andrea warned when Cameron almost finished her eggs. “This only ends one way.”

The girl disagreed. She chose to stay quiet. Yes, she had conned her way into a hotel and Miranda’s home. Nothing stopped though.

“You don’t have long. I’m assuming whatever is going to happen will happen soon.”

“Yea.”

“How does it take before you’re not you anymore?”

“Fourteen days.”

“You can’t be in a body for more than fourteen days? How long has it been?”

“Eight.”

“Six days and you’re gone,” Cameron said to her last corner of eggs that she shoved around with the tip of her fork. She had six days to make one million. At the very least she could trick Andrea into staying in her body long enough to miss the deadline. Although, she really didn’t know how the process of relinquishing a body worked. 

There were so many questions. Bombarding Andrea with those questions would only make her more suspicious. Perhaps, if she could convince Miranda to do the asking it would alleviate Andrea’s wariness to answer the questions honestly.

*

“Death is a multi-billionaire dollar industry. I read an article yesterday that the average is around $8,700 dollars.” Miranda plucked a piece of lint from her skirt. “My mother’s funeral cost about that much.”

Andrea eyed the profile of her lover. Her hand slid to her thigh and for a moment she considered changing the subject with sex. She could get on her knees and lift Miranda’s legs over her shoulders and dine on her lips, clit, and the juices of arousal.

“Tell me something,” Miranda interrupted her train of thought.

“What do you mean?”

“Tell me something so I won’t be afraid,” Miranda said.

If it had been any other person it would have sounded desperate. Miranda was vulnerable and somewhere between her diagnosis to now she came to accept it. She looked death head on with some anxiety and curiosity.

“It officially takes 364 licks to get to the center of a Tootsie Pop.”

Miranda tilted her head.

“You’d be surprised how many people die never knowing that fact. It’s a bit of unfinished business that comes up more often than you think in this line of work.”

“I can’t imagine that I would have been devastated if I died without knowing that.” Miranda turned to the window and exhaled. “I would think that you would be better at this.”

“You want to hear about the celestial brilliance of heaven or the gold plated telescopes you can use in the afterlife to watch over your loved ones? Everyone asks about what comes next. I don’t care enough about their feelings to lie. Or maybe I respect the seriousness of their decision to kill themselves to tell the truth.”

“Which is…”

“It’s not glamorous.”

“Heaven?”

“The truth is not glamorous.”

“I think I can handle that.”

Andrea studied her face to gauge if Miranda was more emotionally invested in the answer than she let on. An impatient brow rose and Andrea shrugged off her indecision knowing the truth would be less than satisfying.

“I don’t remember.”

Miranda blinked. “I don’t understand.” 

“The unglamorous truth is I don’t remember what it looks like. It’s a side effect of taking this form, I lose memories. The longer I’m down here the more I forget who I am and my purpose.”

“That sounds like a dangerous part of the job,” Miranda observed.

“It’s not part of the job. I could hover around like a celestial being but that’s too close to being a ghost. Besides, I’ve never been successful in voyeurism. I like eating, drinking, and fucking too much to let you humans have all the fun.”

“That’s odd that you would think it’s worth it. Pleasure seems like an unnecessary risk if the risk is losing yourself.”

Andrea countered. “That’s an interesting opinion coming from someone who let pleasure decide how they’re going to handle their last days.”

“That’s different.”

“I agree. Our experiences are irrelevant to each other. I won’t judge you using her spiritual guide to give you the most intense orgasms you’ve ever had in your life.”

Miranda turned back to the passing scenery. “You think very highly of your performance.”

“Yea and it all started when you introduced your pussy to my tongue.”


	16. Chapter 16

Andrea was supposed to be sucking in fresh air. She supposed even the editor had her limits. Having death at her side while she chose her own casket might have been a bit much. Maybe Miranda would need her after to soothe her anxiety. 

“Andy,” a voice called out.

Andrea didn’t lift her head. In her peripheral vision she saw a body stop in their tracks and call out to her. She sighed.

“Andy,” the stranger tried again determined to close the distance.

Andrea maintained her gaze on her phone. She’d been waiting on Miranda for one hour and eighteen minutes. In that time she’d gotten a strawberry smoothie, a blueberry muffin, and peace and quiet. 

“Hey!” This time the voice was accompanied by a hand. “I thought that was you stunner.” The woman was a redhead she’d never seen before. “Cameron said I’d be able to find you here.”

Cameron? Andrea gave nothing away. Although, she realized that the woman did look familiar. 

“Ms. Charlton,” Roy greeted her when he exited the car.

Wide eyes lined in black eyeliner studied the man who greeted her casually as she went to rummage through the trunk of the car.

“Roy?” The redhead said surprised. Her eyes went wide and warily stepped away from the car. “You can’t be serious. This is Miranda’s car. You are leaning against Miranda’s car.”

Andrea flicked her eyes to the car to make sure it hadn’t transformed into a six headed demon.

The secretary or assistant. She’d put her in a thrall the day she visited Miranda at her office. She’d seemed surprised when she saw her in the office. Perhaps they would have been having this discussion sooner if Andrea hadn’t put her in a thrall and commanded her. 

The episode would have been fleeting and with it the memories of Andrea even visiting would have been forgotten. It was a side effect of using the thrall and she didn’t use it often. It was an intrusive skill.

“You’re here with Miranda,” she accused. The redhead poked Andrea in the chest, “You promised.”

Andrea didn’t promise anything.

“You’ve mistaken me for someone else,” Andrea said dryly.

“Damn right,” she hissed speaking much lower as she dragged Andrea away from the car. “I mistook you for someone who could keep their promise. I take it that the thing with Teddy didn’t go well. To be honest I’m surprised to see you still breathing. You my friend, know how to burn a bridge.”

Andrea didn’t know what to make of it. Too many people in the span of a few weeks recognized her. She was beginning to be irritated at this Andy woman and her infamous past. It was cramping her style. 

“It doesn’t sound like I’ve been a very good friend to you. I’d understand if you never wanted to speak to me again,” Andrea said without remorse.

“The deal was politicians and affluent celebrities that aren’t my boss.”

“Was it?”

“You’re selective amnesia is kicking in is it?”

“Miranda likes me around,” Andrea said.

“She doesn’t even know who you are.”

“I make her whimper and scream. That’s all she cares to know about me.” Andrea said. “I promise you she won’t care if you tell her any different.”

Emily tried something new. “I heard about Teddy.”

Andrea looked over the redhead’s shoulder for Miranda. How long was this going to take? 

“I think he’d be very interested to know where to find you,” Emily continued. “He said things didn’t quite end amicably.”

Emily seemed oblivious to the nature of that ending. She was speaking in terms of a wounded ego or bruised pride. Did it ever cross her mind to think that this Teddy hurt Andy. Well, he may have gone so far as to dump her body after he killed her. 

“As I recall, you still owe me a finder’s fee for him.”

“Finder’s fee?”

“You fucking ingrate.”

Andrea’s gaze narrowed. It seems that Andy and Emily had an arrangement. The assistant, it made sense. She’d have access to personal and professional details. From what Andrea could tell Andy sounded like the perfect opportunist to feed these details to. The arrangement had one glaring exception, Miranda.

Andrea sucked in a healthy breath of air. When she released it she grabbed Emily by her waist causing the other woman to yelp. She leaned into her ear and let her lips brush up against the sensitive skin.

“You feel so soft, fragile, and breakable. You’re a pretty little toothpick with red head hair. If I wasn’t so enamored by Miranda I might’ve gone for you, for fun. Then you would be the one screaming and calling me a pussy genius.”

“What are you…” Emily’s hands went to her shoulders to push her away.

“No, no, no, I’m not done,” Andrea clenched her jaw and dug her fingers into Emily’s back. “Why don’t you do us both a favor and forget what you think you know about me. I’m not who I used to be. And if you don’t believe me…” Andrea relocated to Emily’s face. “Look me in the eyes, ‘cause Andy isn’t home.”

“Andrea?” Miranda called to her from the steps. Her eyes were hidden behind large Burberry sunglasses.

The brunette pressed a gentle kiss to Emily’s cheek. “Be a good girl and walk away. We wouldn’t want Miranda to assume just how friendly we are.”

Emily almost lost her balance when Andrea removed her body from her. She barely found her footing when she started in the opposite direction, hoping that Miranda didn’t recognize her from behind.

Andrea didn’t give her a second glance. Miranda’s face followed Andrea’s movements to the bottom of the steps. The editor paused at the highest step before she began her languid descent.

“Could you give a minute, Roy,” Miranda asked when her driver let her and Andrea inside the car. 

“Was that a paramour from Andy’s past or did I take too long and you found a distraction on the street.”

“Are you alright?”

“The fact that you evade the issue by pretending to care about how I feel inspires a sense of malaise.” 

“I don’t evade,” Andrea corrected her. “Are you jealous?”

“This isn’t about jealousy,” said Miranda hiking up her skirt. She grabbed Andrea’s hand and pressed against her lace panties. She began shifting the hand to the edge until Andrea’s fingers began moving on their own to enter her. “You made it pretty clear that you were mine. I made it clear that I needed you to be mine. I thought you understood that.”

“I do,” Andrea moaned as she sank deeper into Miranda. 

Miranda clasped the woman’s wrist urging her to go deeper, harder, and faster. She threw her head back on the leather headrest. “Fuuuck...”


	17. Chapter 17

Martin Theodore Finch, her lawyer, ordered his staff to move heaven and earth for Miranda’s comfort. She was special. If she wasn’t she wouldn’t command a room just by walking into it. 

It took years of self awareness to perfect the resolve and maturity marinating her reputation. There weren’t many people that understood that addiction of power, comfort, and freedom. They were entrenched in the menial dramas. Too focused on putting out small fires to let themselves get burned for once for the sake of the bigger picture.

Her bigger picture had been simple. She never wanted to be ignored. She spent a large amount of her formative years with opinions she swallowed because she didn’t think anyone cared. How could they? What did she have to offer? It took her a few years worth of mistakes and hiccups to know that answer and articulate it to strangers.

“You look radiant,” Martin told her.

Miranda nodded, accepting anything he said as going through the motions.

“Is there another Mr. Priestly in the works?” he asked as if that were the only reason she would want to review her will. He could think that.

“No, Martin I want to make sure that my investments and the beneficiaries are current for my will.”

“Is everything alright? Are you in good health?”

“Never better,” she lied.

“Good. Good. How are the girls?”

He didn’t pry and followed up with several more questions about a recommendation for a hotel in Italy. He wanted to plan a romantic getaway with his wife of forty years. Miranda didn’t know the names by heart of all the hotels in which she stayed internationally. It was even harder to identify them by country. She referred him to her assistant for that question putting her full confidence that he would not be disappointed by her suggestion.

A shorter blonde deposited a cup of tea in front of her. She hadn’t said she wanted the drink. Still, Martin said nothing and Miranda ignored for the duration of her meeting. that she didn’t touch for the entirety of the meeting. 

She had six houses and praised herself for the symmetrical number. Three would go to Cassidy and three would go to Caroline. She factored in the region into deciding which home went to which daughter. The only property they would share was the house they currently resided in with their mother.

They had trust funds they wouldn’t be able to access until they were both twenty-five. She didn’t want to make the document any heavier by adding more stipulations. It was a five page document heavy in legal jargon. As long as everything went to Cassidy and Caroline she was satisfied.

When this bit of business was through then she could begin planning in earnest how she would do it. In her more quieter moments she already had ideas. They weren’t original and most of them didn’t convey her character. She didn’t normally ask for advice and as a rule she avoided it preferring to trust her instincts. Andrea did have some insight on this kind of thing. She wanted it to be as painless as possible. Maybe she had suggestions.

She snorted at her own inadequacy. Despite popular opinion she wasn’t this impermeable iceberg. However, she’d said the right things, hurt the right people, and made unfathomable personal sacrifices for the sake of her career.

She was goddamn Miranda Priestly. The weight of what that meant made her go quiet and really examine herself. She wasn’t drinking or on drugs and at this height she needed to check in with herself often, especially when she could basically get away with murder.

“I’ll come by the house later and we can go over the financials tonight,” Martin suggested, so accustomed to having a short window for their meetings. She was a woman in high demand as were most of his clientele.

“No,” she said quickly. “Not tonight.” As much as her body still throbbed from last night she looked forward to spending another obeying Andrea.

There was no perfect moment to leave. Miranda gave herself four more days. Strange, she could sit here and have this conversation like any other time she sought council for a prenuptial agreement or a divorce. Life was strange even as she teetered on the threshold of death.

She gave him tomorrow’s date and time. He countered with another time that didn’t conflict with a prior engagement. He would be visiting her outside of her work, but for as much as she paid him she didn’t worry about requiring his services after five.

“I’ll walk you down. I’m on the way to lunch in Chelsea.”

On the walk to the elevator the interns parted like the red sea for the partner. Recognition of the act made Miranda briefly recall an anecdote about power that was on the tip of her tongue. She was too tired to reach for it. 

She was beginning to get hungry. 

When they reached Miranda’s car Theodore waved off Roy and held the door open for her. Miranda reminded him to get in touch with her assistant to get the information on ideal locations for a romantic getaway in Italy. He was in the process of expressing his gratitude when he eyed brown intense eyes glaring at Miranda impatiently.

“I’m starving,” Andrea said one second away from pulling his client inside before he finished speaking.

His eyes roamed to her companion. She expected him to admire her. Hell, she was alluring and beautiful. Miranda had a hard time taming her thoughts when she was close. It seemed her lawyer was grasping for an excuse to continue to stare. 

“Uh..a...what’s your assistant’s name again?” Martin asked.

“Emily,” Miranda deadpanned before she disappeared into her car. 

He ducked down to once again say thank you and confirm their meeting for tomorrow. Miranda’s head lowered to her phone missing a weak almost sickly smile cloud his face.

“You didn’t keep me waiting long this time,” Andrea pointed out. “You didn’t finish?”

“No, he’s coming over tomorrow night at seven.”

Andrea’s leg brushed up against Miranda’s leg. Neither woman acknowledged the contact nor did they veer away from it.

“What now?”

“I believe you were pestering me about feeding you a few minutes ago.”

“I had a very light breakfast. Cameron wouldn’t share any of her bacon.”

“Speaking of Cameron...I shouldn’t be the only one putting my affairs in order. Are you aware of what happens to children with no parents.”

Andrea drew in a breath through her nose. “She’s not my responsibility.”

“I don’t understand why you would think that.”

“I have a very good reason. And I only need the one.”

Miranda lifted her brow in question.

“She didn’t come out of my vagina.”

“You’ve borrowed the very vagina she came out of. That’s not a valid argument.”

“Contrary to popular opinion, I’m not responsible for the baggage that comes with this body. That includes the kid and whoever else had a grudge with her when she was living.” She crossed her arms and sagged in the chair looking less composed than Miranda had seen her to date.

“You’re pouting.”

“I reserve the right to pout until I’ve fed you. Even then I won’t be sated until I have you right where I want you. You know my favorite position.”

The woman really made an art of skirting serious issues. It was one of the reasons she liked her, though Andrea was flirting being more frustrating than entertaining.

As if sensing that Miranda wanted to push the issue for the sake of her own conscience Andrea interrupted her train of thought. “I don’t want to talk about the kid anymore.”

“Of course not, far be it for you to empathize with a child who lost her mother.”

Miranda’s guilt was driving plain and simple. It was filling up the space of the car and Andrea was finding it hard to breathe and think straight. She’d been incredibly productive today. Still she wanted to find things to take control over and unfortunately for Andrea she was in arm’s reach.

“This shouldn’t even be a discussion.”

“I agree,” said Miranda, refusing to back down.

Andrea wanted her on her knees. She wanted the woman to feel free of these moments where she was only getting in her own way. She could help her with that only if she was around and willing. Right now she needed to get away from Miranda. Her first opportunity came minutes after Miranda spoke and seconds before Roy had come to a complete stop due to lunch traffic.


	18. Chapter 18

Officially Miranda didn’t fidget. She didn’t subscribe to nervous ticks either. Drumming her fingers nervously on her thigh now was a testament to her level of stress. People walking away from her always gave her a sense of unease. Her calm was unraveling and her distraction had bolted out of her car without a word of explanation.

The traffic was stifling and as much as she didn’t want to listen to her own thoughts, they kept her company. She hadn’t meant to start an argument. Her only intention was to...well, that didn’t matter. Her good intentions were usually distorted by the people she shared a bed with. Why would Andrea be any different because she wasn’t human? Miranda either had a gift or a curse. Since her mind was focused on the glass being half empty she was leaning towards the latter.

She refused to do that to herself. She felt heavy. Her finger kept drumming aimlessly and she knew there was only one place she wanted to be. She informed Roy of her change of heart and he began shifting to the right lanes to take the turn that would take them to her office building.

No one expected her to be in today least of all her assistant who fumbled to prepare to take notes when Miranda ordered her in the office. Miranda didn’t suffer fools. Extreme accountability kept her workers honest. She did her best to encourage them with a disappointed sigh an approach Andrea didn’t respond to. Miranda found her saying more than she normally would. She didn't feel comfortable giving away so much. 

“Yes, Miranda,” Emily stood at attention.

“What comes to mind when you hear the name Andrea?”

The woman really didn’t have a poker face, thought Miranda. She had hoped for immediate answers and as far as she could tell this interrogation would be painless. Almost painless, she really needed her to stop stuttering.

“Is she a friend of yours?”

“No,” the redhead ground out her first word angrily. “Andy doesn’t have friends.”

“You seemed extremely friendly earlier today.”

Miranda’s gaze met wide and wild eyes. They were bright with uncertainty.

“I’m not going to go into detail about how Andrea and I are acquainted. You’ve known me long enough, Emily. You know I don’t share.”

Emily’s head bowed unable to meet Miranda’s gaze or even stare at that space above her head. Her body shook and part of her had already made peace. This was how she was going to die. Standing in front of the devil. 

“Breathe, girl,” Miranda rolled her eyes.

Emily nodded with her lips pursed together looking like she was going to pass out anyway. 

Miranda stood from her chair. “You’re the only assistant here, Emily. If you’re unconscious there’s no one here to call for medical attention.”

The woman exhaled. The pen and pad were being strangled at her sides. Emily stopped herself before an apology tumbled out. Miranda would hate that because that clearly wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

“It’s not what you think.”

“I don’t have enough information to develop an opinion. You’re in my office to assist me with developing it.”

“She’s not good enough for you.”

“You don’t think very highly of her.”

“That’s not what I…” Emily trailed off. “She’s good at what she does. I don’t trust her intentions.”

“Okay, go on.”

Emily’s eyes filled with unshed tears. Miranda hoped she didn’t break down in her office, that wouldn’t be pretty.

“I keep her on retainer for Runway, unofficially. She does well with clients who have specific tastes. She makes almost everyone around her feel comfortable. They let her in. They tell her things.”

“Things?”

“Secrets.”

“You blackmail clients?”

“It’s not as horrible as it sounds,” Emily defended herself. “No one suspects Runway. Andrea is a capable buffer when she isn’t being self centered and opportunistic. It never came back to us. It never will.”

“That’s a neat trick,” Miranda deadpanned.

“Who else knows about this arrangement?”

“Andy and I. No one else.”

It was like an anxious magician divulging the secret to a very interesting trick. Emily was a capable, if not neurotic assistant showing her hand. It was simple and effective and no one, least of all Miranda, considered Emily had it in her. She was never more impressed by the woman’s tenacity than she was now. Except there were questions that needed to be asked and answered for Cameron’s sake. 

“She’s taking on a lot of risk,” Miranda said. They didn’t live in a very forgiving environment. 

Emily shrugs. “She thrives on it. When I saw her near your car today...I told her to stay away from you. Before this arrangement started Miranda I told her that you were off limits.”

“How kind of you.”

“I don’t know why she’s with you. For your own sake, end it. Like I said she’s very good at what she does. She resides in the same city as many affluent people she’s pissed off and they won’t touch her because she’s that dangerous.”

“This is all a shock. I’m not sure if I should demand your resignation or grant you an assignment of your choosing. It all seems well thought out and organized especially if this is my first time hearing about your scheme. You had to know when she began taking drugs it would put your operation in jeopardy.”

“Andy doesn’t take drugs.”

She died of an overdose. Andrea said overdose.

“That isn’t what I’ve been led to believe,” Miranda studied the redhead who seemed so sure of her last statement. 

“Andy is a lot of things and she isn’t my favorite person. I wouldn’t say anything to defend her character since her character by definition is unscrupulous. Andy is a business woman first. I have always been able to trust that about her.”

Emily thought she was being honest. Andrea wouldn’t have a reason to lie about the cause of Andy’s death. 

“That is all.” Miranda waved her away. The new information needed time to marinate without Emily’s panicked breathing breaking her concentration.

“I did this for you,” she said and it made her look sick to say it. She mustered some bravery and finished. “I would do it again, for you.”

It probably sounded righteous to her ears. Miranda wasn’t concerned about her integrity. They were in a business where there wasn’t barely a crevice for that word to exist. When Emily finally did leave her she shut her eyes. She imagined her smiling daughters and their tear soaked faces when their father told them what happened. 

Not even the thought of them being better off soothed her guilt. It would hurt them even more to watch her waste away. She would rather them remember her this way, strong. How did Cameron remember her mother? A girl deserved better. Cassidy and Caroline deserved better than letters. Her letters explained everything but that didn’t mean that they wouldn’t inspire more questions. How would they feel? How would they remember her? Would they forgive her?


	19. Chapter 19

After arguments with Miranda she needs space. She needs perspective. As much as she wants to be with Miranda being around her takes its toll. She’s drowning in need and suffocating on the other woman’s expectation of her. What was the point of her disclaimer? The woman only heard and accepted what she wanted to hear. She couldn’t accept that Andrea wanted nothing to do with the human child.

Guilt had done a number on her but hadn’t even grazed Andrea. She found herself running towards a familiar Bar and Grill in walking distance. The patrons were a collection of tourists, professionals, students, and locals piling in for a decent meal and drinks.

She gave the receptionist a name then she was guided to a maroon booth furthest from the door and closest to the bar. She plopped into the seat. Armada had a predictable enough schedule in the same methodical way she chose her bodies, her puzzles, and her pastel cardigans. She chose women over plain looking brunette’s over fifty. 

Andrea ordered from memory when the waitress came by to refill Armada’s fifth cup of tea. The hispanic woman placed her glasses on the cover of her book of sudoku. She didn't need the glasses, Armada loved to commit to a part.

“Do you know how comforting it is to know that some things don’t change?” Andrea said by way of greeting. “Lunch reservations for two at Charatain’s Bar and Grill.”

“I’m a sucker for routine,” she shrugged, assessing the other woman in silence. 

Finally Andrea broke it after a second glass of tea appeared. 

“You sure you don’t want anything stronger?” asked Armada.

“It’s probably best for all parties involved if I don’t.”

They listened to the soundtrack of the diner. Andrea wore her thoughts on her face and Armada smirked at the troubled look. They weren’t that different. They both borrowed bodies for the purpose of feeling something. Albeit Armada was more reserved. Andrea came barreling into one of her regular restaurants brimming with messy feelings. 

“What’s the matter suga? You’re looking more impatient than usual.”

“Miranda.”

“Are you being nice?”

Andrea scowled. “I’d say under the circumstances I’m doing damn good.”

“That’s better than the alternative.”

“She’s taking so long,” Andrea huffed.

“It’s all part of the process,” the older woman conceded watching Andrea play with the salt shaker. “I don’t have to tell you.”

“No, you don’t have to tell me. It doesn’t change the face that it’s frustrating. I’m this close,” she said as her thumb and index finger hovered for emphasis.

“Yes. I know.”

“I’ve waited long enough.”

The brunette’s food came in and between stabbing her salmon and consuming her rice Armada’s responses deteriorated into sounds uninterested in harming the rhythm of Andrea’s process. She needed to hear the words come out of her own mouth. Armada nodded dutifully at the parts of Andrea’s diatribe that asked for acknowledgement. It went on this way for at least thirty minutes until Andrea mentioned the child.

“The child knows what you are?”

Andrea lost steam when Armada put down her puzzle book.

“You need to get rid of it.”

“Not yet.”

“You’re becoming entirely too careless. I knew it was nothing but bad news when you volunteered for this assignment.”

“No one else would have dared take it from you, not even you.”

“You’re right.” She shook her head, “How’d she die?”

“Overdose,” said Andrea.

“That’s simple enough. And of all the kids in this city...you ran into hers?”

“I’m that lucky and then some.”

Her brow wrinkled. “There’s someone else?”

“I hit the jackpot. She has a kid, she owes people money, and she blackmails people for a living.”

“You know how to pick them,” said Armada after a brief shake of her head and a long chuckle.

“This isn’t funny.”

“The things you do for love. I’ll never understand it. What do you think it’ll be like when she wakes up?”

Something in Andrea shifts uncomfortably. Her body warms. She is unable to control her body’s response to the unknown. Andrea dedicated plenty of hours to that question creating more questions than concrete answers. She doesn’t dwell and what she doesn’t know but it’s apparent to Armada how uncertain she is despite her proclamation of impatience.

“She’s going to be different.”

“Is she going to want you?”

What kind of question was that?

“She doesn’t have a problem with me now,” she said, avoiding dissecting her own half truth.

“Anything else I can get for you ladies?”

“No, just the check.”

“It’s already been taken care of by the gentleman at the bar.” The waitress's bony finger pointed to the bar.

Both women lean out of the booth. The man in question raises his mug in their direction. Minutes later he walks over and never takes his eyes off of her.

“The last time we spoke we left things unfinished. I figure buying you lunch is a peace offering towards getting on the right track,” he said with a toothy grin.

Andrea didn’t trust him. “Who are you?”

He chewed the inside of his bottom lip maintaining a smile that looked more crazed now.

“We didn’t get around to formal introductions. Names aren’t important in my line of work.”

“This is the curse of my face.” Andrea threw her hands up. “I probably remind you of someone named Andy don’t I?”

“That you do,” he said resting his hand on the booth cushion already unconvinced before hearing her out.

“I’m not her, my name is Andrea.”

“Is that so.”

“You don’t look like you believe me.”

He shook his head. “I gotta hand it to you,” he joined them in the booth ignoring Armada all together. He eyeballs her for a minute, glaring at her in a vain attempt to see if she was real or really a stranger. “I don’t make mistakes but if you’re here right now then obviously I did something wrong. Teddy called me shitting the bucket. I didn’t believe them. Then he told me where to find you and here you are.”

Andrea aligned the salt shaker with the pepper shaker aimlessly. For a moment Andrea is glad she doesn’t inherit the memories of her bodies. Andy’s last moments must have been sad and lonely and regret must have spread as wide and whole as morning fog. He was mistaken if he thought she was easy to hurt.

His heavy brows furrowed tiredly and as if he could read her mind he said, “I didn’t come here to finish what I started.” He shifted uncomfortably to the left and withdrew his cell phone from his pocket. His gaze lifted to Andrea meaningfully when he spoke into the phone, “Yea, I’ve got my eyes on her. There’s nothing nefarious about her stuffing her face with fish and rice.” He finished the conversation a minute later. “Teddy’s my sister’s husband. He’ll mount anything with legs and she won’t let me touch him. She likes the lifestyle too much. I say that’s what life insurance is for.”

“Aren’t you a symbol of sensitivity,” said Andrea.

Armada touched the man’s skin. “Would you be so kind to let me out?”

His eyes glazed over. He wore a dumb smile as if her speaking to him had brightened her day. He stood immediately hitting Andrea’s shoulder on accident as she joined him. 

Armada reserved a scowl for the taller woman and turned to their visitor again. “I can’t say it was nice to meet you and I doubt we’ll do this again.”

He bobbed his head up and down. He stood at the end of the table for a minute after both women left the restaurant. He eyed the empty booth oddly because he couldn’t recall the last few minutes that seemed important for him to remember.


	20. Chapter 20

While Andrea didn’t have to catch up with the other woman’s steps her strides were rushed. She released an aggrieved sigh and sent furtive glances to Andrea. The disappointed and silent treatment only lasted one hundred feet from the restaurant.

“I haven’t had to clean up after you for years,” Armada said. “I told them you were too close. You need to get out of this body.”

“That’s not an option.”

The other woman shook her head disappointedly. “I don’t understand you. I don’t understand this.”

“I’ll get what I want soon enough. I like this body. I like what this body does to her when I’m with her.”

“Sometimes I forget how young you are.” Armada stopped. A woman on her phone almost barreled into her. She veered to the right in time since Andrea had Armada’s undivided attention. “Why did you seek me out and bring this killer into my life to see my face.”

“I didn’t know I was being followed.”

“You didn’t know much about this body before you took it. I didn’t teach you to be so damn careless.”

“You’re right.”

“What good is me being right if you’re not going to listen.”

“It’s not going to matter much longer. In a few more days I’ll have my Miranda back.”

“Do you think she’ll really be yours in the end?”

“Yes,” Andrea said sharply. She didn’t want to entertain any cracks where doubt could burrow. She only wanted to look forward. And the only future that mattered included Miranda, her Miranda.

“I bet you do,” Armada said gently. Her shoulders sagged and her voice softened as if this news was more depressing than uplifting.

“You don’t have to believe me,” the brunette looked over the woman’s head. “And I just needed…” she rubbed her forehead roughly. “This is hard enough as it is...I just needed a friend.”

“We’re friends?”

“No,” Andrea said quickly. “You’re the closest thing I have to one.”

“You really are a piece of work.”

Andrea fell in step when Armada began walking again. They didn’t say anything for a half a block and Andrea mentioned the child from earlier. 

“She’s just an angry kid. She’s greedy. I think it’s because she’s been taught the wrong thing about money. She talks about it like it’s going to save her from something.”

“An empty stomach?”

“That and more.”

“Do you want me to talk to her?”

Andrea knew what she was asking. With age and Armada’s inherent seriousness came a maturity with her gift. She had used it on the man in the booth. He wouldn’t remember much about the interaction at the booth. Ambiguous shape and words would replace her and Armada and the conversation he started. If she wanted she could get him to walk happily into traffic. Then again if she had she wouldn’t be as respected or even be worthy of her gift. 

As easily as it would make a strong willed killer to walk into traffic it would be even easier to influence a child. Tell her a story that would change the trajectory of her life choices. A suggestion might even save her from her mother’s fate. Andrea didn’t have that much faith in a suggestion, but perhaps it could steer her in the direction of having a better life. That’s what Miranda wanted for her wasn’t it? If there was anything that would keep her holding on, it would be this unfinished business. Miranda saw it immediately as Andrea’s responsibility, it wasn’t fair, but fair wasn’t a concept that Miranda’s state of mind could handle. Not now.

Life wasn’t fair. Andrea remembered the line from a Geena Davis film and considered all of the life people snuffed out of each other in the name of self preservation as needless. So yes, she wanted Armada to talk to Cameron. 

*

Miranda looked at the stars. They were twinkling beautifully. Would she miss them? Or would she have a better view where she was going? She chuckled inwardly. If it were up to popular opinion she’d most likely have a horrible view of the stars where she was going. Good thing she didn’t live her life on popular opinion, unless she’d had a hand influencing it.

A neighbor walked by without greeting her. They’re phone was stuck to their ear and their curious pug was sniffing the ground. Most likely in search of the perfect place to defecate. The routine was peaceful and woefully domestic. Miranda clenched her jaw as she remembered her dreams to be woefully domestic as she grew older. When all of her hopes and dreams weren’t tethered to a magazine. She had the undeniable need to create something else, little humans. Two beautiful girls were the answer to a void the magazine couldn’t fill.

They were beautiful, talented, smart, rambunctious, and hers. They would never know how much she loved them. It hurt to think about it and it was too much to rely on a letter to put into words what she felt and what she wanted for them.

A black car rolled up. Miranda heard the tires roll to a stop in front of her stoop. The engine quit and two car doors slammed shut.

“Is that frown on your face because you’re missing me?”

Miranda glared at Andrea. She stood on the first step with her hands in her pockets. Another woman stood behind her. “I thought you left.”

“That’s not how it works,” Andrea said cryptically.

“I could have gone through with it tonight. You weren’t here. I would’ve been alone.”

Andrea shook her head. “That wouldn’t have happened either.”

She sounded so calm and assured. Miranda wasn’t consoled by her confidence. She was angered by it. She was angered that despite knowing what was going to happen, knowing what Miranda planned, it was easy for Andrea to walk away. It was her job to be there for god's sake. 

“Is Cameron still here?”

Miranda used the concrete to stand to her full height. She glared suspiciously at Andrea and the woman who moved closer. “You care about Cameron now?”

“Let’s not pretend she’s more than a surrogate for your little girls.”

“Does that make her less worthy of consideration?”

“No, but she’s not either of our responsibilities, Miranda. And despite how much I disagree with you…” Andrea inhaled. “I’m here to do right by her even though I have no obligation to do so. Is she still upstairs?”

“She’s sleeping.”

Andrea nodded to Armada, who had already started up the stairs. Andrea reached for Miranda when she moved to stop her. As if sensing it would be the wrong move Miranda obeyed the silent shake of Andrea’s head. When the woman cleared the door and they were both left on the stoop to her house she sagged against the wall beside her door.

“Who is she? Is she like you?”

“She’s different, like me and not like me at the same time.”

“Did I ever share how much I adore non answers.”

“That’s that name of the game if you want to continue with this line of questioning,” Andrea shrugged uncompromisingly. “I came to do right by Cameron, that’s what this is.”

Miranda held herself. She wasn’t particularly worried about the woman who marched into her home on a mission. Andrea’s unwavering trust in her must have meant something to Miranda. If it hadn’t she would have put up more of a fight. In any case, she hadn’t and she was still willing to share the same air as the infuriating psychopomp.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Andrea asked.

“You care what I think,” Miranda said as if testing out the power in the statement.

“No,” Andrea corrected.

“Yes,” Miranda challenged.

“I just think there are better ways for us to spend our time together than fighting. And whether you realize this or not...you can’t help it. Ordinarily I don’t mind, but it’s way more satisfying to see you bent over.”

“So, it’s just easier to give me what I want? Because you care what I think.”

“You hear what you want to hear.”

“No. no. I’m very good at deciphering what people mean.”

“I’m not people.”

“You’re not all that different from people, Andrea.”

“You’re doing it again?”

“I’m making conversation in the cold. It’s the best way to keep warm,” she said smartly.

“It sounds like you’ve never had the pleasure of relying on your lover’s body heat in the back seat of a BMW.”

Miranda quirked a brow at the BMW parked in front of her house. “And you have?”

Andrea thought about cementing her point with a kiss. Perhaps a tug of a hand to coax Miranda to the car and into the night away from all the thoughts that kept her company of late. It was tempting to save her from herself. Though, that’s not how Miranda worked. She didn’t need a hero. She wanted a partner, someone who could handle her at her worst and enjoy her at her best.

Miranda pushed off the house. She shifted as she glared at the windows. “How long is this going to take?”

Andrea glanced behind her to the house as if the sight of it would help her gauge the time. “I don’t know, a while.”

“I don’t want to go back in there. And I don’t want to stand out here, either.”

Andrea eyed the woman on her right. Miranda was eying the car. Her hands went for Andrea’s thigh. She drew closer curious as to how far the editor would take this. Her curiosity was rewarded when Miranda gave a triumphant smirk when she dangled the keys from Andrea’s pocket.

“I need to clear my head.” She called over her shoulder, “Are you coming?”

It was the only invitation Andrea needed to jump into the passenger seat. Miranda turned the keys to the ignition. The car hummed hypnotically. Neither woman said much as Miranda maneuvered the streets aimlessly. It didn’t matter to Andrea to ask where they were going since the right turns seemed as random as her left turns.

Miranda hadn’t touched the radio. Gloria Esteban’s Rhythm is Gonna Get You filled the silence as they spent the night cruising. One her hand’s left the steering wheel and it ended up on Andrea’s thigh. She didn’t mind.

A few more aimless turns and they ended up in an overnight parking garage. She drove until she was at the top with a view of the city and where there weren’t many cars on that level. She stopped the car and turned to Andrea purposefully.

“Show me.”


	21. Chapter 21

There weren’t that many differences between Andrea’s Miranda and the woman in the driver’s seat. In so many ways they were the same woman except her Miranda knew what it felt like to be accepted unconditionally. This one...she protected herself. She’d never be so vulnerable to let anyone underneath the armor platted personality of Miranda Priestly.

Andrea had an urge to break it, burn it, send into oblivion. She’d love to see the woman under the mask needy and quivering for attention. No one got to see Miranda so out of control, which compelled Andrea to be harsh. It’s the only language the other woman would understand.

Miranda unbuckled her seat belt and let it crash against the door. She scrambled to the backseat first only making it half way to the back when Andrea halted her movements. One leg made it over the seat. The other was held hostage in the front.

“Wha...” Miranda started and trailed off when she felt Andrea’s hand under her skirt.

“Don’t. Move. Miranda.”

“This isn’t a terribly comfortable position,” Miranda said with her hair in her face as she used the backseat cushions to keep her upright.

Andrea responded by running her knuckle between the her thighs, closing in on Miranda’s heat. She drew closer smelling the sweet fragrance of her perfume and the heady scent of her weeping center.

“You know the way you argue with me, I’d never think that you’d be so ready for me.”

She answered with a whimper. “Don’t tease me.”

Andrea sighed as if it pained her to move her hand away. “That’s the tone you reserve for your puppets, I don’t operate on a string. I thought we established that.”

Unwilling to antagonize Andrea at that moment when she would rather have her fingers inside her, Miranda kept her mouth shut.

“You can apologize now.”

Miranda’s snort was strangled. Then there was the part about her arms getting tired. She collapsed on the seat giving her shaking limps a rest.

“Beg.”

The one word made Miranda tense. “Go to hell.”

She tried to adjust and force Andrea’s fingers to connect. A moan erupted from her chest, but her lip and scowled at the blameless leather.

Andrea rubbed her knuckle back and forth, the contact remained gentle despite Miranda’s efforts to force more friction.

“Why should I give you what you want when you can’t even ask nicely. I’m willing to give you everything you want.”

“You talk too much,” Miranda tried to grind against the center console.

An amused Andrea smacked her backside and pulled her skirt up. It was too dark to admire her handiwork, she imagined the red print and rubbed the exact area through Miranda’s lace panties.

“This is the part where you beg.”

Seconds passed with two hearts hammering from being aroused so fully. Whimpers, moans, and heavy breathing filled the car and Miranda wasn’t even ashamed that it mostly came from her. 

“Make this easy on yourself,” Andrea coaxed sliding a finger underneath the fabric. She stroked her backside and slid it down, closer to Miranda’s sex. She sank into wetness and leaned in to inhale her need.

“Please.”

The same finger pulled at the fabric. Miranda jerked from the surprise of air hitting her while Andrea chastised by saying she could do better.

“Will you shut up and fuck me, already?”

The tone earned Miranda a hand grabbing her backside. The meat is pulled and shook and her panties are roughly pushed aside and Andrea’s knuckle rubs the opening.

“Please, fuck me...I...I need more.”

The string of unintelligible pleas that followed eventually satisfied Andrea to comply with three fingers filling Miranda. Her rhythm was ruthless and she toyed with the editor just enough to hear her beg properly before she sent her over the edge.

*

Thirty minutes later they were catching their breath.

Miranda didn’t adjust. She left her legs open and ready for Andrea, who sagged against the backseat door opposite the throughly debauched woman. Her hand rested on the inside of Miranda’s thighs, creating little invisible circles on the sensitive skin.

“Where were you when I was stuck with mediocre sex with my husband’s.”

“Releasing pent up lust on strangers, who weren’t you.”

It was too dark to gauge the expression her response elicited. The silence seemed contemplative and Miranda thought that she might have said too much until the other woman spoke again.

“It must be hard.”

“What?”

“Whatever life you live that inspires you to fuck like us, like sex is going to save you from being lonely.”

“I’m not lonely.”

“You want to feel connected. If not, you wouldn’t choose something as messy and nasty and visceral as sex. I’m sure in your line of work, it gets lonely.”

Andrea pulled her and away and the leather objected when Miranda sat up. She followed Andrea draping her body over her.

“There are worse things,” Miranda shrugged. “For worse reasons, but I understand lonely.”

Andrea imagined her response and the questions it would bring. Miranda would understand, not as she was now.

“Who was she?”

Andre snorted.

“Don’t pretend there isn’t someone. Who is she?”

A helicopter flew overhead and when the noise died down Miranda resumed her interrogation.

“You dot the care,” Andrea growled. “So why do you ask?”

“Because it makes you uncomfortable, I like it. You look at me like you know everything about me. I just want to know this one thing that makes your heart race like you’ve just run a marathon. Tell me.”

Andrea didn’t want to tell. Still, it felt too good to have Miranda on top of her, she wouldn’t push her away. So she thought of ways to placate the woman’s curiosity.

“I take what I want because I’m missing what matters. I’m missing the gentleness...I took such good care of her.”

“She isn’t here with you,” Miranda don’t bother with a question.

Half wrong.

“I don’t think I’ve met anyone I could share all my colors.”

Andrea dropped a kiss on the crown of Miranda’s head. They were both so lonely. Sex couldn’t fix it. Talking wouldn’t heal them. When Miranda died they’d have better answers.


	22. Chapter 22

They dressed slowly and quietly. It was almost reverent the way they maneuvered in their little bubble. Careful to give each other space to avoid elbows and legs as they buttoned and zipped themselves. Armada wouldn’t be happy about the smell and she convinced Miranda to drive with the windows down on the way back.

Neither Miranda or Andrea discussed Miranda reaching blinding for Andrea when they returned to the front seat. 

“It occurs to me... I could crash this car,” she said softly barely recognizing her own voice. “And it’ll be over just like that.” Her knuckles went white clutching the wheel. Her other hand dig into the meat of Andrea’s thighs.

Andrea eyed the gauge. Miranda was only going five over the speed limit. “Too messy,” she offered casually. “Is that the last image you want in the papers?”

“You’re appealing to my vanity,” the editor observed. “What happens to you. Can you die?”

Andrea shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t die. I’d just lose out on a smoking hot body.”

“I don’t want it to be messy,” Miranda smirked suddenly.

Andrea lifted her gaze from her thigh where Miranda rubbed.

“Or painful,” the editor added.

“It doesn’t have to be any of those things.”

“I have pills...one of the models we worked with was in bad shape. The girl was gorgeous and tortured and spiraling. I live in an industry where people just watch you spin. I addressed her deterioration. I don’t think she knew what to make of it...Miranda Priestly telling her pick herself up and find something to live for if it’s not fashion.”

Andrea couldn’t drag her gaze away.

“She listened to you?”

“She put herself in the hospital first. Then I receive this macabre gesture. She comes into my office with these pills. She puts them on the table and she says, ‘thank you.’ Apparently my appearance in a dream had a life changing impact. I never saw her again and I tossed the pills in my drawer.”

Andrea was smiling.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you like me.”

“I do like you.”

The lovers didn’t pause to dissect their banter filling the car before they parked. Or the way their hands collided and clasped when they started up the steps to Miranda’s townhome.

Armada didn’t comment on it even though it seemed to be where her eyes were drawn. “I don’t even want to know where you went. Or what you did?”

Andrea recovered first as they both wore identical blushes.

Armada rolled her eyes. “I’m getting too old for this. It’s done,” she said getting back on topic.

Miranda still holding Andrea’s hand asked, “What is?” Her gaze traveled to the stairs. “Cameron?”

“She wasn’t harmed. That’s not how this works,” Armada waved away the worry etched on Miranda’s face.

“Someone mind telling me what this is and how this works?”

It was nice when Miranda willingly let things go. No telling how she would respond to why Andrea asked Armada to speak to Cameron.

“You’re like her?” Miranda continued to press, her hand slipped out of Andrea’s.

“I won’t bore you with the ways that Andrea and I are exponentially not the same.” Armada shrugged. And on her way to the door she explained, “I told Cameron to come see me in the morning.”

Andrea frowned. “You did speak to her, right?”

“I did.”

Andrea blew out a frustrated sigh. Armada didn’t go through with it. Why?

Miranda looked between both women feeling the weight of a silent conversation she wasn’t part of. The tension evaporated soon after they were alone in the lobby.

The brunette closed and opened the hand Miranda had affectionately claimed. Her head was bowed as she tested the fine motor skills when Miranda paused at the front door to turn the lock.

Andrea nuzzled into Miranda’s neck when she was preoccupied locking the door. “You smell delicious.”

Miranda shifted her head down and twisted to face the deceptively strong woman. “I’ve been thinking,” she murmured, Andrea nipped at her chin. “I barely know anything about you.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Andrea teased.

Two hands squeezed her backside pulling her closer to Andrea. It still didn’t feel like she was close enough.

“I’m serious,” she pulled away to focus on unfocused eyes. “I don’t know you. I’ve been many things in my life and curious has always been one of them.”

It was more Miranda’s tone than her words that punctured Andrea’s lust filled haze. “Yea?”

“Who are you?”

Andrea didn’t feel intelligent enough to hold this conversation. Miranda was sliding out of her reach and moving towards the stairs. Hands caught her face and brought her to face a somber Andrea.

“I’m....” 

Yours.

“Ever since I met you...I find I’m doing things I’d never do.”

“That’s not an uncommon reaction to what’s happening to you.”

“I don’t feel in control. Usually it would drive me mad. It does,” Miranda’s harsh inflection softened. “When I’m with you...I don’t mind as much. Is that me? Or is that you?”

The emotional rollercoaster left Miranda unbalanced and holding onto Andrea as if the other woman could anchor her. Andrea slid her arms around her. 

“I don’t know.”

“You do this all the time, don’t you? I won’t accept I don’t know.”

“There are some things you don’t understand.”

Number one being their complicated history. Not that long ago Miranda was hers. That’s not something that rolls easily off the tongue. She doubted Miranda with her memories of a childhood, a career, her children, and her accomplishments would accept it was all counterfeit. It had little to no meaning considering who she was before she became stuck in her human host.

She pulled away from Andrea’s warmth. She looked lost and all Andrea wanted to do was hold onto her. 

“I don’t want to be alone tonight,” Miranda admitted from the stairs. The only way she would have admitted that was facing away.

She wouldn’t want to risks seeing pity in anyone’s eyes. Not that Andrea had ever given her any indication that she would cheapen their dynamic with pity. Miranda was too raw to take the chance.


	23. Chapter 23

Cameron picks at her nails. She stuffed the nail of her thumb in her mouth. It’s her nervous habit. Her mother always berated her for it. Her mother who was dead and being used as a meat suit for something not of this world. She threw her head back. She still had a couple of days. Maybe she’d get hit by a bus and get stuck in there, then she wouldn’t be alone. Not that she expected Andrea to take care of her, Cameron could do that on her own. The being alone part sucked.

“You’re early,” Armada said walking up to the park bench and the girl on it.

Cameron twisted off a piece of her nail with her teeth and spit it on the walk. “Why did you lie for me?” 

Armada sat on the weathered corner of the bench. The view wasn’t spectacular. Plenty of people stuck in their phones, carrying conversations, and carrying themselves to a mystery destination in various degrees of urgency.

“You’d have some perspective about life if you were dead. It’s not about right and wrong.”

Cameron dropped her hand into her lap. “You’re not an angel or something?”

“Andrea said she told you.”

“She told me what she was. I can’t even tell you what that is. You...you’re different.”

Armada sighs sparing her mildly impressed smirk. “I’m older.”

“No,” Cameron shook her head. “It’s not just that. I don’t know, you’re different. Why did you want me to meet you here?”

“Andrea wants you to forget. She said I should give you something to live for, besides the philosophy you live by. Should I?”

Cameron tried and failed to make herself smaller. “Why are you asking me?”

Armada scratched her right cheek. “Personally, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with you. I think Andrea, for all of her bravado is too romantic about this living thing you do.”

“To be honest lady you’ve lost me.”

“She fell in love and ever since she’s been ruined,” Armada’s disappointment was unmistakable. “She can’t even see it because all she sees is that...woman.”

“Miranda,” Cameron helped. “Yea she told me about her, some great love story.”

“Some great love story, indeed.” Armada shrugged her shoulder sending off a chain reaction of movement that culminated in Armada checking her watch.

Cameron turned to Armada. “She doesn’t like the way I am. She wants me to forget and she asked you to make me?”

Armada nodded, never taking her eyes off the street. A woman in a dark jacket stopped to inhale from her vape. She was in her late forties with her hair in an unkempt ponytail. 

The child interrupted her train of thought and started. “You’re more powerful than she is.”

“Yes.”

“Are you afraid?”

“No.”

Armada beamed, which looked odd on a face that appeared regularly bored. “Which is why I don’t want to change you. Fear is such a toxic and clingy emotion. You’re unencumbered for the most part, I can work with that.”

“I don’t understand.”

Armada glowed even though her smile fell. It was an ominous glow that Cameron recognized and didn’t all together shy away from. 

“I preserve destiny. Do you know what destiny is?”

Two small brows furrowed followed by a hesitant shake of a head.

“The events that will necessarily happen to a particular person or thing in the future.” Her eyes oscillated back and forth, searching. When she was satisfied. Armada directed Cameron to the woman smoking her vape.

She exhales one large loud before tucking the vape back into her purse. Her expression brightens up and an inordinately wide smile greets someone hidden by the crowd of people waiting to use the crosswalk. She pushes off the brick and loses her balance and her smile because she’s falling. She ends up on her hands and knees at the same moment a 2008 Buick speeds through a light. She was scalped her as it sped through the red light, the driver none the wiser.

Cameron watched the woman collapse. It took a few minutes before the morning erupted into screams of horror. 

“What the fuck?” The girl hissed. Her heart pounded loud and hard against her chest. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t look away and Armada used that time to study her.

“That was necessary and well thought out.”

Cameron blurted, “Is she going to die?”

“Yes.”

“That was her destiny?”

Armada paused. “Humans are very impressionable human beings. A singular even from twenty years ago can inform the present in catastrophic or amazing ways.”

The girl swallowed. “What’s that got to do with her?”

If Armada hadn’t been anticipating the question it might have gotten drowned out by sirens.

“Her death saved forty eight people from a terrorist attack that would have happened in three days.”

“What?”

“Death is inspirational. One man is feeling extremely inspired and he’s going to kill himself tonight.”

“Why?”

“He’s so very superstitious. So instead of shooting up the office building like he planned, he’s going to shoot himself tonight.”

“You did that? You killed her? Why are you telling me?”

“She reminds you of your mother a little, no?”

Cameron shrugged, “Maybe.”

“She was going to meet the man who killed your mother.”

Her head whipped to Armada so quick. Her cheeks were red. 

“Andrea and I met the man, who actually injected the poison in her veins. Him, there he is,” she pointed to an older man in a charcoal suit. 

“He took my mom? Why didn’t you kill him?”

“I thought you might like to do it.”

“Me?”

“You’re staying with Miranda Priestly, he’s supposed to be having a meeting with her tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Are you afraid?”

Cameron dropped her chin.

Armada continued, “It’s okay to be afraid of him, he took your mother. He told a bad man to make it look like she was nothing more than a junkie. A man who can sleep at night after that, it’s okay to be afraid of him.”

Cameron took her time answering. Her heart was still pounding. Her palms were sweaty and she did have a horrible case of dry mouth. Was she afraid? Yes. She told Armada the truth before she tacked on excited, too.

“Why excited?”

“I don’t know,” Cameron said weakly.

Armada picked herself up. She put a comforting hand around the girls shoulder as she ushered her away from the accident site.

*

They rolled out of bed late, feeling safe in their silence. They reach for each other and if Miranda tallied who did most of the reaching, she might feel embarrassed. That was an inconsequential emotion if she’d ever known one, especially now. Especially when her lips were glued to Andrea’s every chance she could get.

This wasn’t lust, it sure as hell wasn’t love. To define it meant to burst the bubble she chose to live in for as long as it was easy to forget she’s running. The trajectory of her life climbed because she was always running towards something. Now, it didn’t feel so urgent to be....anywhere.

Tonight she’d meet with her lawyer and iron out the last details of her will. She’d be free to end it all. She’d be free and she didn’t even know what that meant. She couldn’t be happy and for some reason she wasn’t sad, not with Andrea to touch and hold onto like a proper lover.

Last night she gave up. She gave up so completely and she forgot to be afraid. She forgot to raise up the walls and asked her to stay the night. Miranda refused to erect them that morning as well, which explained the domestic scene they made up that morning.

There was no rushing to work for either woman. Miranda whipped up a light breakfast of eggs, avocado, and toast. She served Andrea as the brunette took care of the coffee. Throughout their morning dance they were never more than three seconds apart, finding exposed skin to caress and kiss.

Andrea was hovered over the paper. Her hands rubbed the inside of Miranda’s thighs as she took up residence on Andrea’s right. The news didn’t interest her, but Andrea’s reading choice did.

“The obituaries?”

Andrea hummed around a portion of her toast. “Habit.”

Miranda took the information in stride and began to sip her coffee earnestly again. The silence wasn’t stifling or awkward or unpleasant, strange. It bothered her, breakfast with death shouldn’t feel so comforting. She eyed the hand on her legs suspiciously.

“Are you doing that?”

Andrea met Miranda’s accusatory gaze and the hand between Miranda’s legs.

“The arm is attached to my hand. Any dams that break as a result, well I suppose that’s my mess to clean.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

Andrea folded the paper and sat back sliding her hand with her, still touching Miranda’s thigh. “What?”

“I feel...nice. Is this your fault?”

Andrea’s brows hiked.

Miranda rolled her eyes over the brim of her cup. “I feel...” she struggled to find the word.

“Like Jasmine on Aladdin’s carpet? Like Belle in that ostentatious library? Like Ariel when she uses a fork for the first time?”

“I don’t appreciate the Disney references.”

“What better way to tease Runway’s editor when she struggles to tell me how I make her feel.”

“So it is you and your fingers?”

“I’ve been known to initiate out of body experiences for women with these very fingers. No ones ever settled for nice.”

“I’m not talking about sex,” Miranda put down her coffee and gestured between them. “I mean this, us, sitting here over breakfast this feels, nice.”

“Oh,” Andrea seemed more awake and surprised. “This is nice.”

“Are you doing it, making me feel...happy?”

Andrea looked to the paper for help. The face of an elderly man smiled back at her. 

“Breakfast with my husband’s never felt like this. I don’t do this, I never made the time, it never seemed important.”

“It’s probably not as important as being at the helm of the most prestigious fashion companies...no.”

“No,” Miranda joined her. 

Her chin rested on Andrea’s shoulder. She wore a black shirt that smelled of cologne. It had been balled up in the back of her drawer from her most recent divorce.

It made her feelings of loss sink in and she grabbed onto the shirt for dear life. Last night, Andrea told her about a woman she cared for. For some reason she didn’t want to be the only feeling uncomfortable, which caused her to ask her next question.

“When you’re with me do you think of her?”

Miranda felt her muscles stiffen against her cheek.

“Why would you ask that?”

“What was her name?”

Andrea flips the paper then tosses it to the other end of the table. “You want to hear about another woman when you’re wrapped around me. If this is your idea of breakfast small talk, it’s no wonder your husband’s left.”

“I make people uncomfortable. I see them, I tell them what I see and I don’t stop doing it. They find that endearing at first, then after a while it becomes the thing they hate the most about me.”

“Many you should’ve learned to let up.”

“Maybe you should tell me her name.”

Andrea sighed. Without warning she pushes the plates away. They go crashing to the floor and Andrea brings Miranda over lap. It’s not one smooth movement and the editor struggles and only stops when she feels hands under her robe. Then three hard slaps to her backside follow.

“You don’t want nice. You don’t want happy,” Andrea said while she lightly traced the red prints she caused.

Miranda whimpered. Her ass is exposed to the air. She’s exposed and for an unnameable reason she feels like she deserves it.

Andrea spanked her three more times. Miranda’s back arched and she grabbed the ends of the table.

“You don’t know what to do with it,” Andrea kept her tone level. 

It’s not sad, Miranda can’t handle sad. She can handle the fingers dipping into her wetness. She knows what to do, or her body does as it instinctively shifts to help Andrea. The hand moves away and for the first time she thinks she made a mistake pissing Andrea off, pushing her too far.

“Don’t stop,” she said and it’s not an order, it’s nowhere near one. “Please.”

She knows it’s what Andrea wants to hear. Any other time she’d feel shame giving in like some wanton virgin whose been teased for hours. Miranda was no virgin and technically she hadn’t been teased for hours, she did need Andrea to take her to a place that only her hands could take her. Sex was nice and it made her feel nice after. She didn’t want nice, she wanted peace and that came from Andrea beating her, stripping her down to her minerals.

Andrea rewarded her. That was how the theme of their breakfast graduated from domestic to painfully therapeutic.


	24. Chapter 24

Every strike shakes the table and disrupts the silverware that didn’t crash along with breakfast.

Miranda doesn’t want this to mean anything. It was a sure sign that it means everything and that isn’t fair considering she doesn’t plan to live for more than a week. It’s not fair, she doesn’t wallow in that sentiment. The sting of it is undeniable, but she doesn’t shy away from the burn of embarrassment, rage, and injustice. She weaponized those heavy emotions. She made control into a religion. Miranda became the kind of woman no one suspects would have an appetite for spanking for breakfast.

Odd how Andrea knows just how to make her feel...No, she won’t go there. It’s much more pleasant to enjoy the pattern of three blows to her backside, then a hand gliding over the sensitive flesh.

More.

She stops herself from pushing her backside up to meet the fingers stroking her moist hairs.

More.

She stops herself, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t dig her forehead into the table and spread her legs in invitation.

More.

“I want this,” She mewled.

It’s becoming a frustrating sport humping at nothing. She relies on hope. Miranda hopes Andrea will sink her fingers inside, pummel her and praise her.

Andrea doesn’t respond. The only sounds come from Miranda. She doesn’t recognize her voice, it makes sense, she doesn’t recognize this animal who wants...more. It’s such a significant word and too general to beg. She doesn’t feel comfortable saying it out loud so she lets her body speak for her.

She’s wet. She’s spreading her legs as far as her position allows. “I want this,” she tried again hoping that Andrea understood she needed more. If Andrea does understand, she’s cruel.

Long fingers rub the length of her slit. 

“Miranda,” Andrea called to her. 

It happens twice more before Miranda realizes what she wants. Next to her face are two glistening digits. She can smell herself. Andrea doesn’t wait for Miranda to open her mouth. The fingers are forced in and Miranda sucks in answer. 

When Andrea is satisfied she withdraws her fingers. The sound it makes is wet and Miranda responds with a hiss and more humping.

“I wanted to have a nice breakfast, read the paper, stroke you...the list could go on. But you just have to be so damn greedy.”

Yes. Inside her closet was a thousand dollar wardrobe, her career, her relationships, her life philosophy stemmed from submitting to the sin of greed. She’s guilty and she won’t be made to feel bad about it, Andrea’s still touching her. 

“You’re making a mess,” Andrea pushed her cheeks apart. She does need to, there’s already a puddle on her lap.

Miranda doesn’t comment on the brunette’s observation. She can’t. Miranda’s phone is ringing from her robe pocket. Andrea removed Miranda from her lap. 

“It’s the girls,” she explained before disappearing to her study for privacy.

The girls are ecstatic. The next twenty minutes they were in competition, Miranda listened to why Cassidy was having a better time than Caroline. The happiness of knowing that her girls were happy was only dampened by the fact she wasn’t there. She’d never get to hold them again. She’s never see their sibling rivalry mature into a bond of mutual respect. They had it in them.

Miranda lowered herself on the couch. She tucked her feet under her cradled the phone. This was the happiest they’d be in a long time. They might not remember everything they talked about, Miranda hoped it wouldn’t haunt them. She could already see thousands of dollars being spent on someone’s couch to dissect this very conversation. Would they recall she barely said a word? Would they remember how intensely she said she loved them? Or would they skew it to fit a narrative that excused the self destructive behaviors some children fall into when they lose a parent.

Miranda tucked the phone under her chin. She swallowed the urge to rewrite them, the letters, her famous last words. Not for the first time she wished that she told them she loved them more.

She unraveled and sought Andrea. Guilt was slipping in and she’d rather replace it with something else. The kitchen was clear, no trace of Andrea or the mess of dishes. Fingers went to her lips as she turned in a full circle. 

Her eagerness to fight off the emotional fog manifested into a jog upstairs. On the third step her body betrayed her and she lay her, feeling more beaten than she ever had. Her hand shook, she couldn’t tell if it was the disease or nerves. She looked down at her pale useless legs and refused to move even after she knew she could probably stand on her own.

“Miranda?”

She lifted her head. The psychopomp descends, she dropped on the stair just above where Miranda is laying. 

“Can you stand?”

“I’d rather not,” Miranda said in a tone that illustrated nonchalance she did not feel. “Where were you.”

She didn’t need to ask. From the damp hair and the fresh aloe scent she could guess what she’d been doing.

“They’re going to hate me,” said Miranda.

“Who?”

“The ones who aren’t going to understand why I did this.”

“It’s not the most popular choice.”

Miranda gave the ceiling her fiercest look. “It’s my choice.”

Andrea rested her arms on her elbows. 

“I refuse to live like....to rely on....I...I can’t do that. I worked too hard to be Miranda Priestly. I don’t know how to be anything less than. I know it makes me sound like a coward, like I can’t evolve and adapt to change. I built my career on it. This isn’t evolution and it’s not up for discussion if I have a healthy relationship with change.”

Andrea ran her fingers through Miranda’s hair. 

“I don’t want this.”

Miranda rolled to the side hiding her face. She shakes and it’s not because of the disease. She’s crying. Long arms come around her and kissing are freely given. It’s a gentle reminder of something that she should know and has forgotten.

“Why won’t you tell me her name?” Miranda asks when she doesn’t want to focus on her pain anymore.

“Because I’m with you,” Andrea said firmly.

Miranda snorted then sniffed. She probably looked like a mess. “What does that even mean?”

“I only feel the urge to kiss a neck, lips, hands, or a nipple when they’re yours. I feel the urge to do a lot of things when you’re around, because you’re around.”

“You’re going to ruin your reputation by being nice to the dying girl.”

“It’s only a reputation,” Andrea shrugged. 

“I have to go to the office later. Will you come with me?”

“I’ll follow you to work, to the shower, the kitchen, the bed and so forth.”

Miranda rolls over, happy to have full control of her body. “Let’s test that theory,” she said. The kiss was wet with nothing but tongue and teeth.


	25. Chapter 25

Andrea watched through the mirror. Her eyes roamed and a silence that would have bothered Miranda at any other time, didn’t bother her now. On occasion she drifted from her morning ritual to gaze at the smirking figure sitting on the edge of her tub. Smirking as if there was a joke on the tip of her lips, a joke Miranda might not understand or be amused by. So, Miranda let her smirk. 

She raised her chin a little higher as she lathered her face. She treated her skin with a skincare product sold in only four locations and none of them in North America. She’d bought a new jar of body butter earlier in the year, before the diagnosis. Perhaps the maid would steal it. Perhaps the girls would use it. Perhaps it would end up in the trash. Suddenly she felt like smirking too. 

“It doesn’t mean anything,” she said. 

“What?”

“This jar of body butter,” Miranda wiped her face and turned around. She used the counter to hold her up and she held up her almost empty jar of body butter. Miranda dipped her nose in it and inhaled. There really was no point to it she thought, but her rituals were muscle memory at this point. 

Andrea’s eyes narrowed.

“It seemed important to buy it at the time. All of this mattered very much...but not now.”

This was normal. The brunette didn’t speak up to interrupt her, she couldn’t when the phone rang. Miranda didn’t move to answer it stuck in a trance as she stared at her reflection.

“Don’t answer it.”

The ringing was shrill.

Andrea changes direction and walks up behind Miranda. She wraps her hands around the other woman’s waist. She forces her neck to the side so Andrea’s chin can rest comfortably on her shoulder. She pulls from her elbow and inhales deeply. Miranda’s scent is intoxicating. She wants to be inside and underneath the other woman’s skin. 

“Do you know what matters?” asked Andrea. She needs to hear the sound of her own voice to ground herself.

Miranda shakes her head.

“This.”

Andrea sucks in her lower lip. Her grip tightens around the smaller woman. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Whatever you need it to mean, Miranda.”

Her lips are thin when she smiles sadly. “It doesn’t mean much for someone whose given up,” she shrugged, pulling away from Andrea intent on disentangling herself.

Andrea releases her. She left standing in front of the mirror. She listened to Miranda getting ready. That feeling to burrow into Miranda hasn’t left. It’s grown stronger and as much as she wants to claim Miranda again she knows the woman is tired. Her thoughts are a galaxy away in a cold place where Andrea’s warmth can’t touch her. This is part of the process. This is the hopelessness that draws Andrea to Miranda. The hopelessness that telegraphs how ready she is to leave this earth. Andrea’s chest hurts. It’s not from her heart pounding even though it’s sped up. The pain is from a sensation she isn’t interested in naming. She forces the smile on her face. She forces herself to think of all the reasons to celebrate because she should be celebrating. 

Soon her Miranda is going to be back.

She doesn’t know how long she stood there. Andrea doesn’t even realize that Miranda is leaning in the doorway with an odd look on her face. She doesn’t understand that it’s in response to the unhinged expression she’s wearing.

There was no urgency when Andrea’s neck tilted towards the door. It was empty. Her eyes didn’t leave the spot she was sure Miranda had inhabited second before she turned. She listened for the sounds of the editor preparing for the day. She frowned when she didn’t hear anything.

“Miranda?”

Silence.

She called for the editor again as she investigated the closet then the bedroom. She was gone.

Gone.

The impulse to find Miranda swept over her and as she’d suspected the woman was nowhere to be found. She didn’t worry about her hurting herself. She still had the meeting with the lawyer. It wasn’t in Miranda to be so irresponsible to leave one thing unfinished. While Andrea questioned what made the other woman disappear so suddenly, she chose to leave it alone. Everyone handled this the same and differently. She chalked up her absence as a symptom of her overall predicament.

She grabbed her coat without thinking of where she was going. She almost walked face first into a hair fist poised to knock. Instead she felt herself almost trip when the same hand changed trajectory and landed in her stomach.

Fuck.

The door slammed as she bent over holding her stomach. Sometimes she really hated being in a human body.

“I tried to be nice,” he said. 

He was still nameless and just as surly as he’d been in the diner where she and Armada left him when he followed her there. Teddy’s brother-in-law, whoever Teddy was.

Andrea coughed glad Miranda had disappeared before their decent morning had escalated into a Martin Scorsese flock. “Ah, that hurt.”

Andrea felt pressure on her shoulder. He was guiding her to the staircase. He pushed her down unceremoniously never taking his off of her.

“Teddy, he isn’t doing right by my sister. And frankly the man doesn’t pay me well enough to turn the blind eye to the pain he causes for my sister.”

Andrea vaguely remembered something about adultery.

“I want you to have a chat with her.”

Andrea didn’t know anything. She knew someone who did as a woman with red hair and bad nerves came to mind. Instead of being forthcoming she cradled her stomach and glared.

“A chat with who?”

“My sister.”

“No thanks,” Andrea exhaled.

“I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

“By breaking and entering?”

“You opened the door. I was going to knock,” he shrugged. He couldn’t be bothered by the methods he used to have this conversation. “My sister’s stubborn. She won’t divorce him. But if someone like you shows up at her doorstep.”

Andrea grimaced as she shifted on the step looking at him warily. “It sounds like your sister is fine with her arrangement.”

“She’s not happy.”

“Did she tell you that?”

His answer wasn’t as quick. His hand closed into a frustrated fist. There was enough room to claim a portion of the step she sat on. He huffed and rubbed the back of his neck nervously. His hand went inside his jacket and he withdrew a syringe and a Beretta.

“Are you getting deja vu yet?” he asked.

Poison, the killing kind. Would the body end up in another dumpster? Possibly. He looked determined enough to follow through with his threat even if she didn’t know that he’d been responsible for Andy’s death. She could die in this body just as much as she could feel pain and pleasure. 

She sighed as his brand of charm was slowly winning her over.

“You want me to give her the where and when?”

“She’s already seen the pictures. There have been other women too.”

“What kind of performance do you think I can give to make myself even more believable than the other women.”

“I want you to tell her about the money.”

“Money?”

“She says she loves him, that’s not it,” he shook his head and went to rub the back of his neck again. “It all comes down to my sister who can’t stand to disappoint our mother. The woman’s been dead for eighteen years. My sister lives her life like divorce is going to be the impetus that raises our mother.” 

Andrea pictured a good schoolgirl in knee high socks and ponytail wrapped in a plaid scrunchy. Her life would never be her own. Her mother shamed her enough from deviating from the ‘right’ values. Whether it was true, Andrea didn’t care. It was the picture her companion was painting. 

“Why don’t you kill him?” asked Andrea.

“He could be crushed under the beams from his ceiling in his office and she’d think I had something to do with it. I couldn’t live with her thinking that about me. It can’t be me. This can’t smell like I had anything to do with it.”

“I don’t think you thought this through.”

“You can make it work. You can make it believable, that’s what you do for a living isn’t it? Say you got religion or something… I don’t care, just get her to divorce him.”

This was all amusing until the moment Miranda opened the door. She was holding a lavender box with pastries and suddenly the mystery of why she’d suddenly disappeared was answered. She was giving into the urges she’d withheld for so many years under the guise of control and unwavering discipline. 

Andrea immediately tensed when cold metal collided with her ear. Tears sprang to her eyes from the pain. She brought her hand up to cover the ear then the Beretta was back this time pressing against the back of her hand.

“That was a warning,” he said low and to Miranda.

The editor scowled. 


	26. Chapter 26

What was the phrase? These kinds of things don’t happen to someone like her? Miranda scoffed at the aggrieved voice on her head. 

“This is not how I wanted to die,” Miranda said dryly behind the wheel of their captors gray sedan.

Andrea ignores the hired gun and grunted. “This isn’t how you die.”

“She rights,” the man in the back agreed before he told her to take a left at the next stop light. “Just do what I tell you and everything will be fine.”

“Forgive me if I’m not comforted by the man holding the gun or the woman who brought him into my home. Of all the...”

A smile played on Andrea’s lips. “You’re cute when you’re upset.”

Miranda’s flashed her a dry smirk of her own. “I can’t believe you’re not taking this seriously.”

“I’m in the car following his instructions like a good hostage.” Andrea continued for his benefit, “And I’ll tell your sister whatever you want me to tell her.”

An agreeing grunt came from the back of the car. Andrea returned her attention to Miranda her smirk growing. 

“You’re entirely too amused about this situation,” Miranda growled as she turned at the light she’d been directed to. “I don’t want to die like this,” she said to no one in particular.

“Like I said, do what you’re told and make sure your friend does what she’s told and everyone’s going to come out of this just fine.”

Miranda blanched. “Are you an idiot.”

“I think the woman who is insulting the man with the gun isn’t taking this serious,” Andrea mumbled from the passenger seat.

They both had the audacity to look at her like she was the insane one. As if she could remain calm with her life hanging in the balance. As if she could trust the man who had already assaulted Andrea and forced her in the car at gun point. No, from where she was sitting she was not the crazy one. She’d just walked out of a designer magazine into some crime drama Andrea wanted to treat like a dark comedy. 

Miranda’s reaction was normal. She wouldn’t be told otherwise and that’s exactly what they were trying to do. Their voices were overlapping and Miranda couldn’t piece the words together. It had become noise to her. Her fingers griped the steering wheel far too hard to be comfortable. It couldn’t be helped as she struggled to breathe. 

Oh my goodness....what did they call these things? A heart attack? It was finally happening, her death. Her girls. She shared herself the best she could through her letters. The damn lawyer. He was supposed to come by tonight. And her face....she was going to crash this car and become unrecognizable. Fitting, a woman dedicated her life to looks would be recorded for posterity as blood soaked and deformed. She could scream if she could breathe, but she can’t.

That’s when it happened. Her life flashed before her eyes. Even in that moment it seemed incomplete and she didn’t understand why. Not that this was the time to pursue why she felt that way. 

She wasn’t safe. 

*

Shattered glass. The sensation of being kicked startled Miranda awake. That’s how she ended up blinking at a ugly brown shoes twitching. Her neck hurt. She felt the bruise from the seatbelt beginning to form on her chest and her face hurt. 

Her pain aside she probably looked better than their captor, glass embedded in his skin. His eyes were wide and unblinking.

“Shit.”

Her door was ripped open. She felt hands on her arms removing her from the seat. Her arms scaled against glass and metal and she knew she should feel something. The pain would be acute later. For now, she felt okay feeling nothing.

“Miranda, come on.”

Andrea.

Her arms wrapped around Miranda at first holding her up then helping her to walk. 

“The car.”

Flames had already begun licking at the man’s flesh. God...she didn’t even know his name.

“We need to help him,” she pulled away or at least tried to. 

Andrea gripped her arm harder and threw her in some strange stairwell with blue walls and cement floor. “He’s dead,” Andrea dropped the woman on the step while she looked out knowing that it would be dumb to stay so close to the accident.

“I thought it was going to be me. I thought I was going to die.”

“I say it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving fellow,” the brunette groused.

“I killed him.”

“You had a panic attack,” Andrea said as if it explained and excused her precarious position.

“I killed him Andrea,” she said strongly. Her voice echoed in the stairwell.

“What are you doing?” The taller woman clasped her hand over Miranda’s mouth. She whispered harshly, “Are you stupid? It was an accident. You didn’t choose to have a panic attack. You didn’t choose to be forced into the driver’s seat of a strangers car. This is not your fault.”

Miranda closed her eyes. She wanted to believe that. She wanted to be stronger than the woman who has panic attacks and breaks down in some random stairwell. She wants to put her mask on and be in control of her feelings, but she can’t.

“This is not your fault.”

“Why are we running?”

Andrea pursed her lips. “You know why.”

Miranda didn’t want her legacy marred in crime in any capacity. How could she explain Andrea and Andy? How could she explain herself? Too many questions. So few answers that wouldn’t become fodder for the vultures. Then to die right after this...they would think she was guilty of something. Guilty of murder, no, Andrea already made a compelling case why this wasn’t her fault. 

“What now?”

Andrea looked up and around. She pulled Miranda to her and fixed her hair. It only helped a little. They probably looked like shit. The ceremony ended abruptly and Miranda sealed it with a kiss that was too rough.

Perhaps this was best.

“Hey!” A woman in highs heels and a waist length fur coat glared at them. “Take that shit somewhere else.”

Neither woman needed any more encouragement after that as they rushed passed her to the outside. They forced themselves to walk away slowly from the scene of the crash site. Miranda gripped Andrea’s arm to her.

“It’s okay,” Andrea continued to guide them away. “You’re doing great. Just do what you do best and walk like you own this street.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive the errors. I wrote all of this on my phone.

No matter what Miranda tried she didn’t her shoulders didn’t straighten to their usual height. She wanted to melt into Andrea, who held onto her hand. They maneuvered through the street looking more like a couple than the reality.

“Andrea,” Miranda whispered. She immediately hated the sound of her own voice.

“Keep moving Miranda,” she orders never taking her eyes off the path ahead.

“I don’t...”

Andrea chanced a look at her. Before Andrea had been walking slightly ahead now she slowed her pace to match Miranda. “I don’t remember living. When I take a body...when I’m like this, it’s the closest I feel to being alive. I feel more. I don’t feel cold.”

Miranda was comfortable in her skin and in a crowd of critics, zealots, opportunists, and divas she felt alive. She could understand Andrea in her own way. She felt so warm when all eyes landed on her. Perhaps it was a symptom of her self importance or maybe it was something larger and deep.

She squeezed the hand in hers. “We’re fleeing from the scene of a crime.”

“I’d prefer that than the alternative.”

“He didn’t seem unreasonable,” tried Miranda.

“My face didn’t get that impression.”

“Poor baby,” Miranda didn’t sound consoling.

Andrea scowled unable to share Miranda’s troubled feelings. “Fuck Miranda. Models malnourish themselves to the size of skeletons and you show more concern for the asshole who put a gun to our head.”

Miranda ripped her hand away. She didn’t retreat. She didn’t feel as ungraceful, either. That was the power of rage. It grounded her, saved her from spilling hopeless tears. 

“Go go hell,” she meant it with every fiber of her being.

Andrea wore the same smirk from the airport and the bedroom when she has Miranda right where she wanted her. The editor hated the smug aura. She felt suffocated by it when she was younger and not as in control of her life. Eventually she learned the power of choice.

Right now she chose to lift her hand and follow through with her body. She slammed herself into a surprised Andrea pushing her back against a parked car. The brunette couldn’t retreat, a reality Miranda capitalized on when she kept hitting the taller woman trying to catch her arms. Miranda wasn’t hurting like she wanted to hurt her, she hoped her nails scratched her at least.

She felt her chest tighten. She recognized the agitation in Andrea’s voice. There was someone else yelling, too. She wasn’t done yet. She hadn’t even begun to inflict the kind of damage she wanted to. When she stepped into another lunge her legs buckled. Suddenly she was falling. She didn’t have time to prepare herself in her descent and she didn’t need to. Andrea recovered quickly reading the situation quickly.

Miranda’s rage morphed to distress. Andrea responded and put her hands around the woman’s waist. They owner of the car was still yelling. Miranda couldn’t feel her legs. She couldn’t mouth it. She didn’t need to. Andrea held onto her with one hand and the other reached into her pocket for her wallet.

She was speaking in another language. Miranda listened dumbly as Andrea rolled her tongue when she said, por favor. 

The brunette received an agitated response. 

*

Neither woman expected to be in a car with another stranger so soon. Apparently the car Andrea slammed into was a off duty taxi driver. Despite his annoyance he accepted Andrea’s money. Now they were riding around the city with Gloria Esteban telling them how the rhythm would get them. Not this pair. Not now while they recovered from their recent dance.

They racked up a hefty bill. The cab driver flicked his gaze to the mirror. They claimed the spaces closest to the opposite doors and fumed in silence.

Andrea just told him to drive. That had been an hour ago and their bill had racked up, but neither woman was intimidated by the number. In truth neither cared. 

“Either of you thirsty?” The driver asked sounding like he was recovering from the cold. “I know a bar nearby. Plenty of strangers. Plenty of people that mind their own business.”

Neither woman responded.

“Cheap drinks,” he attempted to tempt them again. “Maybe you might find somebody to make her jealous.” He directed the last comment to Miranda, who looked up for the first time. Her cheeks were red.

“Pardon?”

“Eres hermosa mujer,” he said and translated later. “You are beautiful woman. If she cheats that has nothing to do with you.”

Andrea glared at the meddling driver.

He returned the glare, he said, “conozco esa mirada. I know that look. It’s the look of an idiot.”

“She didn’t cheat on me,” Miranda felt compelled to correct that detail as if attacked her worth somehow.

“You only make scenes like that on the street when someone you love does not act right,” he said.

“I didn’t cheat.”

He asked, “It is something else then?” 

Both woman responded with silence.

“It is something that is none of my business?” He chuckled to himself. “Whatever it is, it won’t get better if this is the way you communicate.”

“Of course you would choose a cab with a Spanish speaking, Dr. Phil,” Miranda groused.

The cab grew excited. “My wife loves his show.”

“He did a show on a older woman and a younger man, compelling stuff.”

“Pull over,” Miranda snapped.

The driver looked at the neighborhood then back to his well dressed occupants. “Do you even know where you are?”

She didn’t have to repeat herself. Andrea parroted her sentiment and this time broaching no argument. In response, the driver made a few more turns then parked in front of a two story motel with a lit vacancy sign.

He pulled off not long after Miranda paid for the cab. Andrea watched the woman closely. She seemed fine, in total contrast from before they hopped in the cab. She didn’t speak when Miranda ordered one room, with one bed. The editor didn’t think it was worth discussing either since she didn’t try to share her reasoning.

*

Burgundy, tan, and emerald green. The colors worked well together to create a atmosphere of impermanence. Miranda left the blinds closed. She looked at the garish carpet and the large bed.

Andrea headed to the bathroom wordlessly. Miranda gracefully landed at the edge of the bed when her exhaustion caught up with her. She looked over the room. Miranda didn’t want to dwell too hard on her predicament. If she did it might make sense that she ended up here. She didn’t want any of this to make sense. She wanted....

“You’re still dressed,” Andrea observed.

Miranda only tilted her neck towards the sound of the brunette’s voice. She stiffened when Andrea closed in with wet hands and a searching expression. 

“I could do it right here,” Miranda said.

They didn’t need to discuss what ‘it’ was. “It would give them something to talk about after you’re gone.”

Andrea reached for Miranda’s heels. She tossed them aside.

“That’s no way to treat Jimmy Choos,” Miranda scolded her without much energy.

Andrea treated Miranda’s clothes with more care. She draped each garment over the sitting chair. When the older woman stood in nothing she allowed herself to be lead to the bathroom. A hot bath awaited her. 

She held onto Andrea as she dipped one foot in. They released each other when most of Miranda’s body was submerged. Andrea didn’t feel the need to speed up her pace when she disrobed. She stepped out of her panties and urged Miranda to sit up.

The tub was small. They made it work with Miranda settled on Andrea’s back. 

“You’ve ruined my life,” Miranda’s pentameter was deceptively calm.

“Did I?”

Miranda nodded.

“Let me kiss and make it better,” long finger that had trailed over pale skin moved with a purpose. She pressed her lips to Miranda’s neck and pinched at the sensitive flesh of her inner thigh.

“Fuck you. You can’t fix this.”

Andrea shrugged. She wouldn’t let Miranda sway her. “We won’t know until you open your legs.”

Miranda did the opposite closing Andreas hand between her thighs, two inches from her center.

Andrea winces when several bruises and scratches make themselves known all at once. “Hell hath no wrath.”

“That’s a small price to pay for ruining my life,” Miranda noticed the damage on Andrea’s skin from her outburst. “I must’ve looks like a mess.”

“According to the cabby you looked jealous.”

“We had a very presumptuous cab driver.”

Andrea hummed pitting her mouth to use against Miranda’s neck.

“I’ve never been mistaken for the jealous lover.”

“Of course not. You’re the one surrounded by models all day.”

“You mean those malnourished models?” She yanked herself away futility. Andrea held on.

“Just...” Andrea didn’t know what she wanted to say. She pressed her forehead to the back of Miranda’s head. This wasn’t the first time they sought each other out in the tub and ended up in this position. Miranda didn’t remember that part. 

“He was right about one thing,” Miranda said. “You do have the look of an idiot.”

Andrea snorted. “And here I thought I reflected your good taste in women.”

“More like bad life choices.”

“You were singing to another tune, this morning.”

Miranda shifted and asked, “Was I?”

Andrea’s hand slid until Miranda’s thighs clenched together halting its descent.

“Something about you never wanted me to leave you.”

“I said that?”

She hadn’t said it, not in so many words. Why else would they be sharing a bath? It wasn’t to wash their collective sins. Their reasons fell into a category on the opposite spectrum of absolution.


	28. Chapter 28

Miranda’s lawyer knocked five times, still no answer. He called her and swore this would be his last attempt. He looked at his watch even though he already knew he’d been standing there well passed the time they agreed to meet.

Stuffing his phone in his pocket he looks up and down the street. The feeling of uneasiness filled him up because Miranda wasn’t the only one ignoring his phone calls. His brother-in-law was silent as well. 

His phone vibrated. He’d sent his wife to voicemail three times already, he didn’t this time. As soon as he heard her voice he knew something was wrong. He dropped from one step to another until he’s closing his hand around his car door.

It takes patience to understand her. Her throat sounds rough and her nose sounds clogged, like she’s been crying. She has been crying, he learns, because her brother is dead. 

The lawyer releases the door handle. His eyes close and a headache is drumming at the base of his head. How? A car accident? He never would have guessed it. The interrogation of his location began not long after and it seemed more routine to return to it.

He told her he was meeting with a client, he’d be home as soon as he could. It wasn’t good enough for her, not after she lost her brother. Fortunately, he made it an art to say what anyone wants to hear. His wife was usually on the receiving end and it worked for them, in his biased and shameless opinion.

He caught movement from the corner of his eye. A quick glance confirmed that it was Miranda. He trailed off forgetting to placate his wife.

“Do you have a light?” She asked.

A cigarette did sound ideal. He owned his door and reached for the new pack of Marlboro from his center console.

“Honey, I’ll be home soon,” he lied. He provided the cigarette and the light. “It’s not like you to be late for a meeting.”

He watched in fascination as she inhaled greedily.

“Rough day?” He asked.

Miranda answered by dropping on her steps. 

“It must be catching,” he continued. His hands were stuffed into his pockets as she chewed on air. “My wife just lost her brother.”

Miranda’s voice sounded detached when she shared her condolences.

“You don’t look well,” his observation was devoid of concern.

“Something came up. Do you have the papers?” 

He pet his suitcase and looked at her house meaningfully when he suggested, “Shall we look over it and sign?”

Miranda’s hand closed sound the will from her lawyer. It was warm in her study. He took off his jacket and proceeded to make himself comfortable by rolling up his leaves in her study.

Tabs identified the areas where she requested her changes. She took her time an asked her lawyer to make her a drink bad well.

They drank silently. He couldn’t take his eyes off the woman. There was something different about her. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but she didn’t seem as on her game as she usually was.

“Care to talk about the sudden need for these changes? You are one of my most thorough clients, but I also worry.”

Miranda pocked up her head and moved her head and away from her glass.

“If there’s anything going on...if someone is threatening you...I know people.”

Miranda didn’t blink. 

“Threatening me?”

He nodded wearing a pained face. “I was involved with a young woman not too long ago. I thought that she and I had a understanding, that we were two adults just having fun.” He chuckled mirthlessly. “These girls see the car, the watch, the suit, and they see a man who can take care of them. It’s all any of them want, nowadays. They aren’t like you Miranda, they lack your logical mind, it’s one of the these I love about you.”

She shifted in her chair as if she was growing impatient. 

“Anyway, the young woman and I parted ways recently. She wanted more than I was willing to give and it got ugly.”

Miranda pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Believe me I’m not putting all this out there to tell you some bedtime story. I’m telling you this to warn you.”

“Warn me?” She asked looking instantly uncomfortable.

“Yea. I didn’t realize how dangerous she was until she started threatening me.”

“Who?”

“Andy. The girl in your car.” He made himself another drink. “She’s your new assistant? She’s a smart girl and a marvel in bed.”

“You saw Andrea in my car?” Miranda repeated almost to herself.

“Frankly, I didn’t think that I’d see her again. I’d recognize that woman anywhere.”

Her lip twitched. It was the simplest of movements, but he caught it with a keen eye before she hid her mouth behind a drink. 

“If she’s latched onto you...as a friend I should tell you what you’re in for if she hasn’t begun asking you for money.”

“Earlier you said that if I was being threatened, you know people.”

“How about we leave it at that, plausible deniability.”

“Did we just step into some crime drama? It sounded like my direct counsel has given me advice that wouldn’t entirely liberate me from blackmail.”

Her suspicion was expected. Frankly, he’d have been surprised if she gave him what he wanted so easily. Miranda Priestly was notoriously difficult.

He regrouped. “How long have we known each other? 

“A long time.”

“I’m very fond of you in my own way. And at the very least I’ve earned your respect. I don’t take our relationship lightly. This is me doing what I do best, protect my clients.”

Perhaps the unsettling quality of this new Miranda had everything to do with Andy. What had she done, made the woman fall for her? Not the infamous Queen of Ice. Then again, editor was a warm blooded woman with needs and Andy knew how to sense that need and exploit it.

She was magnificent and more if only she’d been a little more dependable. Then again there is no honor amongst scam artists.

“I imagine that you have access to a plethora of characters with different skill sets to get what you want,” she said with an edge to her voice the lawyer chalked up to nerves. Anyone would be nervous, he’d be curious if she wasn’t.

“It’s best if I spare you the details.”

“I don’t want to be thoughtful. If I agree to this...I want to know what will happen to her. How do you plan to fix this so that I’m never involved?”

The lawyer sighed draping his arm over her office couch. They were talking about a human life put in the simplest terms, business terms. No problem is too great if that problem is flesh and bone. Flesh is fragile. Bones, well, they break.

“You mean kill her?” Miranda asked for her own clarification.

“It’s not as bad as it sounds.”

“I’m not a killer.”

“That’s the beauty of the arrangement. You never have to become one.”

It was just that simple. He wore a self satisfied grin when he heard a recording of himself repeat his last sentence. His face fell and he whipped around to the problem he’d boasted he’d handle.

“What’s this bullshit?” He jumped from the couch looking between the unbothered women.

“Sounds like some real nasty stuff,” Andrea said to Miranda.

Miranda said, “I hired him for his ruthlessness. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“It’s an illegal recording,” his throat felt dry. “You think a judge is going to accept that?”

Miranda asked, “Who said anything about a trial?” Even though she was looking up at him from her seat he felt substantially lower.

“What do you want?”

“You’re brother-in-law died of an unfortunate accident. We want you to fix it.”


	29. Chapter 29

Miranda pulled her gaze away from the lawyer to Andrea. She didn’t have much faith in Andrea’s idea. Martin Finch wasn’t her lawyer because he allowed himself to be intimidated by mere blackmail.

Andrea was confident that she could sway him. She let the brunette take the lead and sighed disinterestedly when the mood struck her. One such sigh came at the exact moment Martin turned to her.

“Where’s the hidden camera?” He asked smiling too widely to for either woman to claim he was taking this serious.

He lifted his chin while his eyes searched the nonexistent device. Whatever relationship he had with Andy didn’t inspire concern from him. It seemed it was up to Miranda to herd this situation to the right mood.

“I assure you this is not a joke. By a series of unfortunate events we killed a man. I’d like you to do what you do best and fix this for me.”

He studied Miranda for a full minute. He chuckled harshly then lunged for Andrea who seemed more prepared to handle him when she drew a pistol.

Miranda schooled her features refusing to let a drop of surprise escape. When did Andrea take his weapon? Where did she learn to wield it so expertly? She seemed comfortable with the weight of it as she pushed it into Martin’s cheek.

“Okay okay okay,” the lawyer held his hands up as he let himself be led back to the couch. Dropping unevenly on the cushions, he righted himself and straightened out his tie too.

“The gun really isn’t necessary,” Miranda said smoothly trying to present a united front even though she disapproved of the weapon.

“I don’t know what to make of this Miranda. I thought you were smarter than this,” Martin said making Miranda’s eyes narrow. “Don’t get me wrong...I know what it’s like to be the center of her attention. It feels amazing, especially with what she can do with that mouth.”

“No need to be crude, Martin,” Miranda stopped him. Although Andy and Andrea were two different women, she still didn’t need the unwanted visual of them together.

“Our relationship deserves a little more respect than this,” he dropped his chin as she chuckled.

“My opinion of our relationship has changed drastically in a matter of hours. It started when you’re brother-in-law took Andrea and myself hostage.” It was crazy to hear herself say it out loud. Snippets of a dead man and Andrea at gun point visited. She sniffed, “I need you to work your magic.”

“I’m all ears,” he spared a glance to Andrea.

“Your brother- in-law wanted to enlist Andrea’s help with your wife. He was under the impression that she would be the proverbial straw to break the camel’s back,” said Miranda.

“And you killed him? How?” He sounded unconvinced.

Miranda didn’t take offense when she admitted, “Accidentally.”

He sighed heavily. “Were there any witnesses?”

There’s was a strong possibility. When Andrea pulled her from the car she didn’t recall seeing anyone. She couldn’t conjure faces before the accident.

“I don’t know,” she said. “We crashed and...I don’t know.”

“You crashed?” He asked for clarification.

Miranda gave him the abridged version of how she came to be behind the wheel involuntarily. 

“Cameras.” he said pulling out his cell phone. “What route did you take?”

Miranda wrote down a handful of street names. He picked up the slip of paper while he scrolled brought the contacts in his phone. 

As his thumbs worked he talked. “I know a guy, but this won’t come cheap.”

Andrea spoke for the first time since she put away the pistol. “That sounds like a ‘you’ problem. We did you the favor of saving your marriage.”

Martin ignored the brunette as he spoke into the phone. His inflections were more exaggerated. He had more energy as he worked to get the response he wanted from the guy on the other end. This was Martin, the lawyer, at work.

Andrea closed the distance between them. She joined her against the desk. Their pinkies touched and for a moment she lost focus. What was she doing? It almost felt like she wasn’t going to lose herself to a shitty disease. It almost felt like Andrea cared about her. What did that mean? 

“You sure know how to show a girl a good time,” Andrea joked.

Miranda felt the corner of her lip attempt to smile. “I don’t know how this happened?”

“I gravitated to the most beautiful woman in the room and it’s been an adventure ever since.”

“That’s putting it mildly. You may not have the same reaction to seeing a man die, but I think your indifference is inappropriate.”

Martin delivered a shallow laugh as he continued to work the man on the other end. He wasn’t paying them any mind.

“Fuck you,” Miranda said harshly.

“Not now,” Andrea hummed in warning.

Shame. Anger. Fear. Those weren’t emotions one could reason with easily. Miranda had years to understand her triggers and fight for control of her emotions. It was her choice to step in and stay there and her so inebriated on her feelings that she does something, unfortunate.

“I wish I never met you,” Miranda said hotly.

“That’s not like the Miranda Priestly I know,” Andrea scolded turning to the woman. “She wouldn’t let something so small turn her into this.”

“People have the right to change after killing someone.”

“You wish that it had been you to fly through that window?”

“That’s a horrible way to die.”

“That’s not a no, Miranda.”

“That’s not the way I want to die. Give me more credit.”

“Good. It’s unbecoming to cry for a man that held us at gun point.”

For some reason her thoughts drifted to hands around her waist in the cheap motel. She thought of those hands trailing over her wet thighs. Pressing firmly onto skin in the hopes of gaining access to her center.

“Why are you so invested in how I do it?” The question came out more harsh than she intended.

“I’m not,” Andrea replied petulantly.

“Is that the best you can do? I pegged you for a better liar.”

Andrea opened her mouth, but she only heard Martin’s voice when he said dryly recalled the short conversation that solved at least one problem. Martin prodded for more details. Andrea answered most of his questions for the next hour. Fortunately, the conversation didn’t warrant Andrea pulling out her stolen pistol. 

It was Miranda who walked him to the door when he had a good idea of how many mistakes they’d made by fleeing the scene. He assured them that it would cost some money to fix, but it could be fixed.  
Miranda listened wore a unreadable expression as the lawyer told her what she wanted to hear. 

She reached for the door and they both watched him walk out of it. Miranda collapsed against the door and Andrea immediately grabbed for her. The brunette dropped her forehead on Miranda’s.

“You’re exhausted,” said Andrea speaking just above a whisper.

“You’re exhausting,” said Miranda. She pressed her hands on Andrea’s chest.

Andrea replied with a half smile. “How sweet of you to notice.”

She could feel the taller woman tense under her hand as if preparing herself for the inevitable rejection. 

It never came. Despite Miranda’s admission of exhaustion she moved with a purpose slipping her hands into Andrea’s pants. Andrea didn’t participate. She chose to give Miranda the control she desired. However pleasurable it would’ve been to have Miranda Priestly on her knees, they didn’t get passed unzipping Andrea’s pants.

The blaring of a horn made both women hiss from surprise.

Miranda stood in he doorway when she opened the door as her street came alive with lights and neighbors dressed for bed. Andrea took one step outside and saw the source of the sound. A black Mercedes sat in the street, it’s driver face was pressed against the horn, waking up the entire neighborhood.

“That’s Martin’s car,” said Miranda.

The faint sound of sirens sent Andrea in high alert as she looked around the immediate vicinity. Her expression was hard and there was no warmth in her voice when she told Miranda to go inside and stain there. It was habit for the older woman to disobey. Andrea didn’t care about habit and insisted she stay inside, she even tacked on please worrying her even more than her dead lawyer on her street.

*

When she descended the stairs she ended up shoulder to shoulder to a woman in a running outfit.

“Brain aneurysm,” said the supposed runner. “So many possibilities with that one.”

Andrea immediately felt cold. She’d never seen the woman before, but she knew the detached voice. The body was new and a little younger than Armada usually went for, which was a sign in itself that her former mentor was up to no good.

“What did you do?” 

The runner’s brows hiked, “I don’t like the sound of your tone. Besides, I wouldn’t judge so harshly when you choose wealthy people ready to die because you like to live a little.”

Andrea bristled.

“You use to be good at this, too.”

Andrea stayed silent searching the shadows and the growing audience.

“Cameron reminds me of you.”

“Jesus, Cameron did this? You told her about the aneurysm.” This was just like Armada’s style. “She’s just a kid.”

“I like that about her,” Armada said. “She has room to grow.”

“Where is she?”

Armada didn’t respond quick enough and that’s when Andrea knew the woman didn’t know. “Shit.”

“Did you even think about what it would do to her? She’s human, a little girl with feelings she probably can’t even understand and you took part of that humanity....for what?”

Armada gave her an amused expression. “Is this about her or you?”

Andrea shook her head. The EMT arrived lighting up the street with red. The way it colored Armada’s new face Andrea thought that this might be the face of the devil.


	30. Chapter 30

Armada loved her once. Andrea felt the same. Romantic love would’ve have been a stretch for them. If either woman had to describe it they could agree that it mirrored familial love. The kind a mother would have for her daughter and a daughter would have for her mother. But there was a part of Armada that enjoyed her job a little too much. The killing. The manipulation. Playing people like pieces on a chess board filled her with a satisfaction that Andrea never felt. If anything she felt the opposite, she felt dirty. At least in Andrea’s line of work she dealt with people who chose death.

Armada would admire her handiwork until they piled the body in. Cameron wouldn’t be too far away if she had caused the accident, she might want to make sure the man who killed her mother was dead.

The brunette cranes her neck to the tired faces in shock. She turned on her heel to the house where she told Miranda to wait for her. Thoughts swam and collided into themselves and others morphing into worst case scenarios Andrea would have rather not thought of. It couldn’t be helped. So much death in the last twenty four hours. Part of her couldn’t help be suspicious of Armada. She was the kind of woman who liked to have her hand in matters that had nothing to do with her in guise of being helpful. Andrea almost asked her. She almost turned around, but she didn’t think she could handle the happy face that would come with Armada telling the truth.

Andrea rubbed the back of her neck when she closed the front door shut.

“It was pretty easy,” Cameron said with her arms crossed leaning against the closet door. 

Her whole body stilled. She let her eyes adjust to the darkness. The lights from outside came in through the window creating hard blocks of light. 

Cameron’s eyes were trained on the floor. Her mouth was working as if she were chewing something. 

“I didn’t realize it could be as simple as walking in front of a car,” she said. She sounded more in shock and less in awe of her triumph.

Andrea looked to the empty staircase listening for movement as she idly agreed how fragile people were.

“I didn’t think it would work. I thought at best I would scare him, but...” she raises her gaze for the first time revealing wet cheeks. “I didn’t think....”

“She told you who he was. She told you what he did.” Andrea’s tone was devoid of judgement and her eyes were absent of sympathy.

The girl wiped furiously at his cheeks. She nodded.

“Do you feel better?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I just feel empty.”

Andrea stuck her hands in her pockets. A comforting hand would only confuse the girl even more. “She likes you. She doesn’t let go of people she likes easy.” Andrea continued to speak slowing her words down so there was no mistaking what her next words meant. “Armada will want you to do it again.”

“Again?” Cameron shook her head looking more pensive than she’d ever looked before. She searched Andrea’s face for a hint of a lie. “I can’t do that again. I don’t want to.”

The little girl on the balcony from a few nights ago made an appearance. Less angry she just wanted the security of someone, who would always be there.

“She has ways to help you want to,” Andrea said. The concept of winning and losing didn’t apply here. She could see the thoughts playing on her young face. Andrea knew how she felt, which was why she knew she couldn’t save her. Against Armada she’d be useless. They had too much history and Andrea knew too much about her to think she could help Cameron.

It was easier to walk away. Armada would get bored of her eventually, maybe even take away her memories and spare her from seeing the faces of the people she killed. 

“Look at the bright side,” Andrea said from the stairs. “Armada considers you hers now. You won’t have to wonder about your next meal or worry about money. You won’t want for anything.” Andrea stopped at the last step as she spoke over her shoulder, “You might even come to love her.”

She didn’t see Cameron’s shrunken shoulders shrivel into her body. She didn’t give the kid a second thought as she was swallowed by the shadows to search for Miranda.

*  
Andrea stumbled on a heel tossed to the floor. She kicked them aside and stood over the lump on the bed. Miranda curled into the fetal position with her back to Andrea. The room was all shadows and breaks of red and yellow light.

“I don’t think it was a good idea to leave the bed this morning,” Miranda said by way of greeting. 

Her hopelessness was palpable and not entirely unexpected. 

“Miranda?”

“Don’t,” she said as the unsettling feeling filled the air, she was ready to give up.

Andrea felt something pulling to surface as she sat on the bed. She sat upright on the headboard. Miranda didn’t even acknowledge her presence. 

“Would you believe me if I said that you are living in a chrysalis? The next time you wake up you’ll see the world for what it is and you’ll be happy.”

“You don’t make sense,” Miranda said groggily. 

Andrea shrugged then whispered, “Maybe not now.” She noticed when Miranda shivered. “Are you cold?”

Miranda hummed as if she’d lost the ability to speak. Andrea didn’t mind it gave her an excuse to shift and wrap herself around the smaller woman, that’s when she felt it.

“Miranda,” she hissed as she yanked one hand back to investigate the wetness on her hand. She didn’t know how she could’ve missed that telling metallic smell. “What did you do, Miranda?”

The blood was coming from her wrists. Andrea turned the woman over straddling her as she applied pressure on her wrists. 

“What the hell did you do?” Her voice trembled when she dropped her head on the other woman’s forehead.

Miranda’s gaze sagged as her head dropped to the left, “Don’t.”

“You’re so stupid,” Andrea said as her hand closed around the other woman’s wrists.

“You’re stupid.” It wasn’t meant to be cruel, the editor didn’t have the energy for that. She was slipping away, it wouldn’t be long now. Her pulse was slowing down and her body felt too cold to dispute that life wasn’t seeping out at an inordinately quick rate. “L..let..me.”

Let her. Her grip loosened her grip. Andrea sat up. Let her. That’s what Andrea wanted all along isn’t it? She pulled back fully and hesitantly until she climbed off of Miranda. She lay beside her onto the blanket saturated in red. 

“You didn’t have to do this alone. That’s why I’m here. That’s why it had to be me,” she said as her throat began to hurt. She felt like she didn’t know who she was, she was nearing her limit in this body. “I missed you. And it might have felt like it, but you’ve never been alone.” Andrea tipped her head to kiss a cold cheek, then unresponsive lips.

“I missed you,” Miranda murmured in a weak breath.

Andrea heard the meaning behind Miranda’s words. The tears rushed forward spilling onto blood, skin, and cloth. She couldn’t rip her eyes away. She wanted this, she told herself, even if it was painful to watch. Painful, like someone reaching into her body and using a spoon to scrape out her soul. The pain wouldn’t last though, soon she’d be with her Miranda. One bed, two bodies, and four wall couldn’t restrict them to this world when they had so much time to make up for. 

It was...this feeling was...it felt like coming home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading 🙏

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. I’m shooting for weekly updates on Monday.


End file.
